


Cycle of the Solar Winds

by bloodofthepen



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Ending, Leviathan DLC spoilers, Multi, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:23:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodofthepen/pseuds/bloodofthepen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[ME3 spoilers] The Catalyst told Shepard she altered the variables, but she disagrees--every sentient being in the galaxy has come together to alter them. The three solutions presented are not enough, and the commander will be damned if she dies before she negotiates something new. But can everyone agree with the decision Shepard has made? Is the option feasible, or has she simply made a deal with the devil?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter edited and revised 7/10/13]

“The choice is yours.”

Each breath was a curse, needles pricking through her lungs, through her ribs, sending sparks of white flashing into her vision. There was a crack each time she shifted as her charred, abused armor protested even the slightest movement. Parts were melted to her skin; it should have worried her more that she couldn’t feel them except for the uncomfortable pull where burned flesh met the edge of metal and plastic. The skin near it seared, but the nerves beneath were deadened.

“Your options are wrong,” Shepard managed at last.

“My conclusions are the most efficient with the data available.” If it had the mind, it might have sounded offended as well as arrogant, but mere study of organics did not make it more than it was.

“No. You said I altered the variables, but you haven’t taken everything into consideration.” The commander shook her head and immediately regretted it as stars and spots danced over her eyes. Her skin itched as it tightened desperately in an attempt to prevent further loss of blood where she was cut and scraped, but even the advanced skin- and bone-weave combined with her cybernetics were not sufficient to cover damage this extensive on their own.  She wasn’t confident she would make it even with all the medi-gel in the galaxy, and she sure didn’t have a chance in Hell if she didn’t get off this damn station soon.

If she got off this damn station.

She wasn’t leaving until the Reapers were subdued, one way or another. Garrus’ order be damned— _I’m sorry_ —If stopping this war meant the only way off this station was as ash on the solar winds, so be it.

“What data has not been processed?” It might have sounded incredulous.

Shepard prepared the shallowest breath she could manage, but needles jabbed her lungs anyway. “The geth and the quarians—Hell, the whole damn galaxy has _united_ against you, organics and synthetics alike. Shouldn’t that tell you something?” The commander fought the urge to cough: that would do her cracked ribs no good. If there was blood pooling in her lungs at this point, it didn’t matter much anyway—a cough or two wouldn’t keep her from drowning in it, and the blood loss that was already making her head spin would get to her first.

“Patterns show that they will eventually fall to fighting each other; this is a necessary but temporary alliance.”

“Yes—there will _always_ be fighting—whether it’s against the Reapers, or mercenaries, or corrupt politicians, or each other. The point is, we have a _choice_ about when and how and why. We **chose** to fight together against you. We can choose our own paths. We can choose peace. We can choose the cycle _we_ want for ourselves, even if that means cycles of peacetime and wartime.” Gasps between phrases sent shocks cascading through her chest, but the words gave her energy.

“But the waste of life in these destructive cycles is pointless. Synthetics will defeat organics. It is undeniable—you will fall, and the cycles you have foolishly chosen will cease.”

A hot rush of anger rode Shepard’s bloodstream at this, her words coming stronger even as her breathing hitched and her frame trembled with fatigue. “You don’t understand! _We don’t want your salvation_. We want our own. You think organics and synthetics will always destroy each other? Think again. The geth and the quarians have united—synthetics are helping organics rebuild their homeworld after a war that some agree should have never happened, that you believe would have ended _only_ in destruction. They’re building trust—a galaxy where synthetics and organics can work together, exist together, and build a healthy and diverse galaxy. We don’t need to destroy or control each other, and we sure as Hell don’t need to make everyone the _same_ to get along; we’ve proved it. It’s important. Our differences are what have made us strong in this war against you. If you tried to synthesize us, there would be no room to grow, to change, to improve. We’d end up as stunted and empty as your husks, your Collectors—nowhere to go, no passion, no community, no purpose.”

The AI-child was silent as Shepard clung desperately to consciousness; darkness began to creep into the edges of her vision. _Not yet, not yet, not yet…_

“You make a fair point with your data—”

“ _Now call off your goddamn Reapers_.” She could no longer hear the hum of the Crucible’s power core, and the AI’s words were too muffled for comfort. But, for a moment, Commander Marian Shepard spoke with all her old authority; broken, bleeding, but still a fire in her green eyes and spirit in her voice.

The AI was silent, child-like head bowed. It looked up after a moment to meet Shepard’s eyes, her vision fading. “At first, I suspected you were merely attempting to find a way to save your own life, unwilling to directly trade everything you think you have for peace.” Its hollow eyes scanned her form, and the only thing keeping the commander on her feet was the will to know the war was ended or if she needed to drag her sorry ass to the Crucible and fire the damn thing. “But you correctly assume you will die regardless—you truly believe this is the best solution, one worthy of trading your life for.”

A choked “Yeah” in response. “Need to hear it to know now.”

“Yes. Yes—I will do this for you, and all the advanced species of the galaxy.”

Shepard gritted her teeth as her legs gave way with relief—relief and blood loss that was impossible to ignore.

“We will also offer to help rebuild your worlds on one condition.”

“Name it.” Her own voice sounded distant, heard from the bottom of a dark pit.

“If you are in danger of destroying each other or the galaxy, we will intervene, and the cycle will begin again.”

There was a throbbing in Shepard’s head, the darkness now swimming in her vision, but she tried to consider all possible outcomes. “Fine, but that doesn’t mean war. Not just any war. They have to truly be on the verge of wiping each other out— _all_ of them.” But they wouldn’t be destroying the Crucible, of that she was certain, even if she wasn’t there to advise them.

“Very well.” It paused, and Shepard wanted nothing more to just lie down, to close her eyes—Anderson had it right. They had all earned a rest. But its voice, distant, called her back again. “We will call the _Normandy_ to this position. It would benefit us if you were to survive and provide a bridge between the Reapers and the galaxy. There is a very small chance you could live, but we cannot promise you will see the bargain pay out.”

Shepard sighed, and mustered the last of her strength to keep conscious, trying to see past the darkness to the ships she knew flew far above her. “I’ll do my damnedest.” She could not discern shapes, but there might have been blue light where the reapers and the explosions of the battle had once shown red, the blur might have been the _Normandy_ ’s shuttle. But Shepard could not be sure. For now, the galaxy was safe; Tali and Garrus were onboard the _Normandy_ wherever it was, and all of this would soon be another mission report. Not a bad way to end this saga of impending doom. Her team, as far as she knew, was alive. If they made it through this, she had finally done her job.

 


	2. Re-United

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Chapter edited and revised for more cohesive narrative and consistent narration 7/10/13]

“You know, Shepard, one day I won’t be able to rebuild you.”

Her eyes were still too sensitive to the light, but she knew Miranda’s voice. She managed a dry cough in place of a laugh. “Hopefully I won’t get it into my head to damage the hardware again,” she croaked, shifting stiffly in her white, blurry landscape.

She felt a hand on her chest. “Don’t try to sit up yet, Commander.”

“Chakwas?”

“Yes—now, please, at least wait until you can see properly before you try that again.”

“That obvious?” Shepard closed her eyes in an attempt to let them adjust more gradually. She cleared her throat in an attempt to sound less like the old Mako’s engine. 

Miranda’s voice now: “I’m afraid so. Normally you fix right to attention. Your eyes were shiftier than a volus under interrogation.”

Shepard’s chuckle sounded less like a cough this time. Everything was sore, but it was a definite improvement from what she last remembered feeling. She could hear Miranda and Chakwas fussing with something. She opened her eyes again, and this time, the room swam slowly into focus. Miranda stood to her right, and Chakwas was at the foot of the bed, preparing a syringe.

“Just a mild painkiller, Commander,” she said. “I know you’ll want to be up and about immediately, but do try to take it easy for a couple days.”

Shepard turned her head to either side, stiff neck creaking, examining the empty med bay. She felt a little relief confirming that she was still on the _Normandy_ and not tucked into some remote hospital. But if the bay was empty…

“Where’s Garrus?” She struggled into a sitting position as Dr. Chakwas prepared her arm for the injection, ignoring the way her sore muscles protested, joints cracking and skin itching.

“Not to worry, Shepard; he and Tali made a full recovery.” Miranda rested a hand on her shoulder.

The commander felt a pinching sensation as the needle pierced her skin. “They’re a little bruised yet, but no worse for wear,” Chakwas added. “We told Garrus he had to eat something—doctor’s orders.”

Miranda leaned against the next cot, arms folded. “He didn’t want to leave you for even a minute.”

“Neither did anyone else, really.” The doctor disposed of the needle and syringe in a marked bin nearby. Shepard could feel a liquid warmth soothing her tender muscles. “But they were, thankfully, much easier to distract.”

Chakwas pressed a glass of water into her hand as Shepard swung her legs over the side of the cot. She took a grateful sip, cringing a little at the roughness of her throat when the water passed through it. “You may want to get dressed before you go dashing about, Commander.”

Indeed, the cool air was welcome on Shepard’s stiff joints, but a commanding officer running around in a med gown was _not_ the best idea.

Miranda gestured to the far corner, where a set of clothes was neatly folded on the medically white counter. “We brought you the most comfortable-looking set of fatigues we could find.”

Shepard returned the now-empty glass to Dr. Chakwas. “Thanks.” She slid off the cot, pleased that her legs did not shake unduly and that her steps did not tremble as they had on the Citadel. (She was not about to admit that they _did_ , however, feel about as stable as a hanar’s tentacles.) “How long has it been?”

“Four weeks,” said Miranda, as Shepard shed her gown. She didn’t bother checking the med bay windows, but they were neatly shuttered.

“Better than two years; things are looking up already.” She slid into the navy button-down and rolled the sleeves up to her elbow, ignoring the groaning protests of the joints in her fingers. From a glance, she could see there were red lines and welts crossing the skin of her arms, her stomach, her legs, her chest—but, she considered, that wasn’t really anything _new_.

“Even so, don’t do anything rough for a few days. I won’t be patching up anything that’s your fault.”

“Of course not, Miranda.” Shepard tugged the tan cargo-style pants over her legs and belted them loosely at her waist. “Who do you think I am?” She tucked her shirt neatly into her trousers, though it did not have a hope of staying tucked or tidy.

Miranda snorted. “You don’t want me to answer that.”

Dr. Chakwas chuckled. “Please be careful anyway, Commander. You don’t want to lose mobility permanently. As little work as possible, and no rough extra-curricular activities.”

Shepard almost had the dignity to blush.

“We mean it, Shepard,” said Miranda, giving her best stern X.O. look. To be fair, it would work wonders on anyone but Shepard.

Hell if she was going to let them get one over, recently mostly deceased or not. “I’ll see what I can do about _work_ ,” Shepard crossed her arms with a smirk as Miranda rolled her eyes. “But the _sex_ is what it is.”

The former Cerberus agent gave an exasperated sigh, but Shepard got a chuckle out of the doctor. “Good lord, Commander—just go before Garrus loses his temper with the mess sergeant.”

Shepard lost no time in crossing to the med bay doors—only a slight reduction in normal speed and some unsteadiness, maybe a slight limp from bruising along her spine and the protests of her joints (that was all the commander would admit to, if asked, at any rate). It would probably be much worse without whatever Dr. Chakwas had administered, but, all-in-all, not too bad for her second brush with death.

“Remember what we told you!”

“All right, all right.” The doors slid shut behind the commander.

Conversation drifted from the mess hall. Gardener was fussing with something at the sink, muttering curses, but two very familiar forms were bent over trays at the nearest table.

“I should really be—”

“No, Garrus, I promise it will— _Shepard!_ ”

The commander in question grinned, spreading her arms as wide as the stiffness in them would allow. “Tali—Garrus—I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”

“Not as glad as we are to see you, I’m sure.” There was a smile in Tali’s voice as she sprang out of her chair to embrace Shepard.

Garrus embraced them together but had not managed anything except some thrumming sounds that might have been “Shepard.” He ran the talons of one hand through her hair—mercifully still in its crew cut, unlike the last time she had woken to find Miranda had pieced her back together.

They were clinging a bit too tightly, but she didn’t mind, pressed against the turian’s broad chest and the silken fabric of Tali’s scarf brushing her cheek. “I was terrified the last time I saw you.”

“You sure did a good job of hiding it.” He released Tali from his grip, but did not let Shepard go.

“Hello to you, too, Garrus.” She pressed her forehead to his. “I did better than _you_ , anyway.”

He chuckled, and Shepard could feel it in her chest. “I’m an awful turian, what can I say? I’m pretty sure your influence has made me worse.”

“You and your unfounded fears.”

His mandibles twitched in what might have been amusement or worry. “Not quite unfounded.” Garrus traced her face with a talon—across lines she assumed were scars.

“Do I look as bad as you?”

Garrus laughed. “Not quite.”

“You look a little… rugged,” Tali provided.

“Not as rugged as Zaeed, I hope.” Shepard was grinning but a silence fell—the sort that only one thing followed. The quarian and turian shared a glance. “What?”

She knew.

“Zaeed… did not make it this time.” Tali twisted her hands together. “I am sorry, Shepard.”

“Most of his squad went down,” Garrus added, finally relinquishing his hold on her waist.

Shepard nodded slowly, feeling the muscles in her neck tighten from her shoulders through the base of her skull. “His impossible missions had to run out sometime—if he’d survived, he would have been pretty disappointed by any job offers after this.”

“Things will seem a hell of a lot smaller after the Reapers,” her turian agreed, mandibles twitching into a little grin. “Probably better he’s not disappointed like the rest of us… although, we’re still here; that probably means something bigger and badder is lurking in the future.”

Shepard’s lips sneaked into a smirk. “Retirement? I can’t think of anything more difficult, especially after the Reapers.”

Her best friends shifted uncomfortably as a silence fell. “ _About_ the Reapers, though…” began Garrus.

“Yeah?”

Tali was twisting her hands together again. “Shepard, if you’re not well enough yet—”

“Shepard!” Joker shuffled his way through the hall toward her, EDI’s unit close behind. “EDI said you were up and about, Commander. How are you?”

“What, no wisecracks?” She met him halfway with a friendly nudge on the shoulder.

The pilot gave her a lopsided grin. “Nah—I’ll make up for lost time once you’re moving better than I am.”

Shepard folded her arms. “Come on—I’m moving fine, all things considered. You sure you’ve got nothing for me?”

“Well… this _is_ the opportune moment for a jab about you and Garrus since you can’t catch me…”

The turian in question tilted his head. “But _I_ still can, so you might want to keep it to yourself.”

Joker raised both hands and took a step back. “Nothing like that, Vakarian, I swear. Just general teasing about the commander being all mushy.”

“Do I really look _mushy_ to you, Joker? I can still catch you, injuries or not, so I wouldn’t go that route either, if I were you.”

“Oh, come on—even with EDI to help me?”

“Jeff, you know I will not stand between you and the commander or Officer Vakarian if you instigate conflict and earn retaliation.”

He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for having my back.”

“I was under the impression that humans preferred intimate stimuli from the fr—”

“OK! Got your point, EDI. Embarrass the commander, get awkwardness back.”

Shepard didn’t bother hiding her smirk. “I suppose you two made it out all right, EDI? Better than the three of us did, anyway?”

The AI met her embrace more tentatively than Tali and Garrus had. “Indeed, Shepard. We were greatly relieved when we received your location on the Citadel. The _Normandy_ sustained minimal damage.”

“What happened, exactly, anyway? I think I lost consciousness before you arrived.”

Joker waved a hand. “We got a ping on your location.”

“That the technical term, Joker?” The corner of Shepard’s mouth sneaked up in a grin.

“About as technical as ‘serious shit,’ Commander. Anyway, I steered the _Normandy_ in to save your ass…”

“Actually, it was Liara and Dr. Chakwas who did most of the ass-saving, as far as I’m aware,” corrected Tali.

“Not that we didn’t try,” Garrus added, arms folded.

“They almost had to tie Garrus to the bed to stop him from trying to limp down to the shuttle for you. Dr. Chakwas threatened the both of us, but I knew I wasn’t in any shape to do much but slow down the team.”

“I could’ve done it… but there would’ve been a bigger mess to clean up and it might not have been as fast as Liara’s extraction.” Shepard placed a hand on his forearm, giving it as firm a squeeze as she could muster, and he covered it with his talons.

“Her biotics played a large part in extracting you without causing further damage to your systems,” said EDI. “The Reapers had begun a retreat—”

“And here’s where it gets weird.”

“‘Peculiar,’ perhaps, Jeff, but not entirely inexplicable.”

“Whatever—keep going—the part about the AI-catalyst-doomsday thing is wack.”

“I discovered and communicated with an AI as Liara transported you safely to the shuttle. Shepard—it said it had come to an accordance with you, that it controlled the Reapers and would use them to help repair the destruction they had caused, and then disappear to the far reaches of Dark Space.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“ _What?_ ”

“But, Shepard, what did you have to concede? What did it want?” Tali demanded.

“It was designed to create a solution in the conflict between synthetic and organic life—all I had to do was convince it that its solution wasn’t the right one.”

“Shepard—that AI was hundreds of thousands of years old—perhaps millions. It is unlikely you could have convinced it that its decision, which has, in its eyes, been successful for many cycles, is flawed.” There was a frown in EDI’s voice.

The commander raised her hands. “I know. But the idea was in its head—”

“Processors.”

“—processors—when I got there.”

“What do you mean, Shepard?” Garrus’ expression was difficult to read, even after all this time. It might have been concerned or frustrated, maybe ponderous? Focused, if nothing else.

“When I arrived, it told me that I had shifted the balance---by finding the Catalyst, a new solution was required, since no organic had made it that far before. It… gave me a choice—there were three things I could do with the power of the Crucible.”

“Well don’t stop now! I’m on the edge of my proverbial seat here, Commander—wouldn’t want me to fall off and break something.”

“Jeff, this was likely a traumatic experience for the commander, regardless of her high psychological and physiological durability. Please continue when you are ready, Shepard.” EDI inclined her head in a decidedly human gesture of comfort and assent.

Truly, it was not trauma that made Shepard hesitate. _It was your call. Own it. If they disagree, they can go find the damn Catalyst and send everything straight to Hell themselves._

“I could have triggered the weapon, destroying all Reaper tech, including the Mass Relays—”

“Shepard, why not destroy them completely? We could have made do, and not sit around waiting for the wretched things to break treaty and destroy us again.” Tali shook her head. “Why?”

“We could have rebuilt the mass relays ourselves, or come up with new technology to replace them,” EDI added.

“Gotta say, Commander—”

“There was another consequence,” Shepard snapped. “The Crucible wouldn’t discriminate between synthetics—the Geth, EDI, even me, thanks to Cerberus’ upgrades—though that was the least of my worries since it would have destroyed the Citadel with me on it anyway. I wasn’t going to condemn a whole race, even if they are synthetic.”

“We knew the risks, Shepard.” But EDI wouldn’t meet her eyes.

She nodded. “And if I thought that was the only way, I would have done it. But I wasn’t about to let it be the only option.”

“What were the others?” asked Tali.

“The Illusive Man was right about one thing—there was an option to control the Reapers, to become the Catalyst and make the Reapers do whatever I saw fit.”

“Of course that one was out,” scoffed Joker.

Shepard shrugged. “Risking corruption wasn’t high on my list, no. The last option it gave me was to put my… essence… into the Crucible’s beam and deploy it, changing the genetic structure of everything in the galaxy—essentially making everyone a synthetic-organic hybrid.”

“Sounds like bullshit.” Tali shook her head.

“Synthetics and organics would understand each other—no conflict,” EDI provided.

“At the cost of everything that makes us each strong and unique. I didn’t do my best to unite the galaxy just to defeat everything each of us stands for. I told it we deserved a _real_ choice. Freedom.”

“And the evil ghost-AI thing just _bought_ that?”

“No. I had to provide evidence.” Shepard looked to Tali. “I pointed to the quarians and the geth, working together to rebuild their world.” The quarian glanced to her feet—a movement Shepard associated with a blush.

“Irrefutable evidence, Commander.”

“Thanks, EDI—I rather thought so.”

“Looks like that refusal to accept insurmountable odds served you well again.” Garrus’ mandibles twitched into what Shepard recognized as a grin.

“You could say that. I didn’t go all the way to Hell and back to—”

“Hell and back three times,” he corrected.

She chuckled. “Ok—Hell and back three times just to have some little shit tell me I had to give it all up.”

“Shepard!” Liara nearly raced to cover the distance.

They embraced, the asari catching herself just before she crushed Shepard’s shoulders too unmercifully. “I understand I have you to thank for being functional.”

Liara shook her head. “Dr. Chakwas and Miranda did far more for you than I.”

“Oh, come on, Liara, you know we would have traded places with you in a heartbeat to get her on board safely, and neither of us could have done it without doing more damage,” said Garrus.

Tali nodded. “We would have made a mess of it.”

“I really—”

“It is true, Liara—without your biotic skill and care, more permanent damage might have been done to the commander.”

Joker shrugged. “Yeah, you were pretty good.”

The asari gave a soft chuckle. “Oh, very well—but only because I’m out-numbered. How are you feeling, Shepard?”

Shepard grinned with a careless lift of her shoulders. “I’m on my feet. Aches and pains, but nothing I can’t shake off.”

Garrus made a sharp humming noise. “Of course. That’s why you limped your way out of the med bay.”

“Shepard—” The look of sympathy on Liara’s face was unacceptable.

She shot a glare at the turian, whose eyes glinted with mischief. “As I said—shaking it off.”

Liara shook her head. “You should be resting, Shepard, especially if you’re having trouble—”

“I can make it to the CIC; I’ve been out of commission four weeks too long.”

“Shepard!” Miranda emerged from the med bay. “Follow the advice; the CIC and the remainder of our problems will still be there after a rest in your quarters. This is quite enough for your first time up and about.”

The commander straightened, assuming what Joker had fondly dubbed “command stance.” “Absolutely not. The galaxy needs to be re-built—I won’t leave a task half-done.”

Miranda folded her arms. “The only reason you’re walking is the painkiller Dr. Chakwas administered.”

There was a glint in Shepard’s eyes to challenge that assertion, but Garrus placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it; I’ll accompany Shepard.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Thanks, Garrus. At least _somebody_ trusts my judgment.” She glanced and Miranda. “And remembers who the commander is.”

The woman in question was unimpressed. “I don’t serve under you anymore, _Commander_. I’m exempt from your stubborn fits.”

Shepard scowled. “I don’t have fits.”

“No, but you sure throw ‘em a lot, Commander—I mean, look at what happened with Quarian Admiral Asshole—I think your words were something like ‘so help me, I’ll stand here and watch them blow you out of the sky?’”

“Can it, Joker!”

“Case in point.”

“ _Joker_ …”

“All right—canning!”

“Now, if everyone will excuse me, you can get back to your posts.”

“Just be careful, Shepard,” said Tali.

Garrus nodded. “Don’t worry.”

Miranda opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it, waving the pair off. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Shepard.”

The commander strode with as light a limp as she could muster toward the elevator. “Noted, Lawson.” But there was a small smile catching the corner of her lips.


	3. Capitulate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard wants nothing more than to get back to work, and gets a proper reunion.

All-in-all, an improvement over the last time Shepard had come up from a coma. She was not sure how well she might have done limping about with a pistol against security mechs this time around.

Garrus pressed the button for the elevator, gently helping her in. “I know you can do it yourself, but I do like to feel useful—especially since I couldn’t do a damn thing during extraction or surgery.”

She chuckled. “Just this once, Vakarian.”

Inside, Shepard passed a hand over the unyielding fabric on his chest. “Civvies?”

She could feel the amused rumble in her fingertips. “Doctor’s orders.”

The elevator began its gradual ascent. “And you _listened?_ ”

Garrus shrugged, pulling her closer. “Mostly because I don’t have any serviceable armor right now.”

Shepard rested her head on his shoulder—just for a moment. She had a little time before the elevator made it to the CIC, after all. “Thanks, Garrus.”

He spread his mandibles a little. “For what?”

The commander tugged him down by the cowl—though really it was more like a gentle tug to which the turian acquiesced, but, really, who was being that technical about it?—and pressed her forehead to his. “For making it.”

Garrus ran the talons of one hand smoothly through her hair; vaguely, Shepard realized someone must have tended to it while she was unconscious. “And thank the Spirits for your ability to follow orders, Commander.”  He pressed his mouth plates to her lips, and her knees nearly buckled with the relief of it—everything came crashing down over her head as his tongue passed over her lips, but he kept a gentle arm around her waist. Shepard didn’t hear the doors as they slid open with a hiss.

Garrus returned his forehead to hers; Shepard realized with a flash of annoyance that there was a tremble in each of her limbs. “Come on.” He eased her out of the elevator.

“Damn it, Vakarian!”

He chuckled. “You’re not the only one who knows a thing or two about tactics.”

She did not struggle as he led her into her quarters. “I should have known when Miranda stopped protesting,” Shepard grumbled.

“I have to admit, she did play it pretty nicely.”

“Damn you and your distractions.”

“Works wonders on mercenaries, too,” he added smugly as he helped her ease onto the sofa. At least he wasn’t trying to tuck her into the damned bed yet.

“Speaking of—mind handing me a mirror? I need to see just how much I resemble our favorite.”

“I don’t know, Shepard; at this rate, you could give me a run for my money when it comes to picking up krogan.” He handed her a small mirror from the desk—one that Kasumi had left in her quarters before the mission to get Keiji’s greybox that seemed like a lifetime ago. Perhaps, technically, it was.

“Damn. Next time we’re on Tuchanka we should have a contest.” She traced her fingers along her jaw where there was an angry, jagged line; there was a thinner wound on the opposite cheek, just under her eye, and a short cut through her brow. She touched it gingerly. “Almost like the old one from Akuze, huh?”

“A smile over a brand-new scar,” Garrus shook his head, mandibles spread in a gesture of affection. “Spirits, Shepard—you’re already more krogan than I could ever be. Any bet with you guarantees an empty chit.”

“And I didn’t even take a rocket to the face.”

“No, you had to one-up me and take a hit from Harbinger.”

“Anything for an edge, Garrus.” There was a broad mark on her temple, but only a slightly uneven texture across her neck; no lacerations to be seen. Her stomach turned as she realized it was from newly-grown skin to replace the places her armor had welded itself to her body. There would be several more when she took the full inventory of her arms, legs, and torso that she had neglected while getting dressed. Her face was enough for now.

“Try not to make running headfirst into certain death a habit, please—I’ll gladly cede that you’re the biggest badass onboard if that’s what it takes.” His voice was light, but his mandibles were pressed tightly to his cheeks.

Shepard sobered immediately. “Garrus…” The commander stood, lifting a hand to the turian’s shoulder—she grunted and collapsed back on the sofa as a searing shock ran through her legs. “Hell, shit, damn!”

Garrus sat tenderly beside her, but could not keep the amused trill from his sub-vocals. “Temporary dose. Chakwas did the same thing to me when I wouldn’t stop pacing outside the med-bay.”

Shepard chuckled, even though it left an ache in her chest. “And you let that stop you? Getting soft, Garrus.”

“Not a chance. When I figured it out, I left a chair just outside the med-bay doors.”

“I’m sure she was thrilled.”

“She said I had to move sometime—that I’d get restless and move to get food or go to bed. But I told her I’m a damn good sniper for a reason.”

“And here I thought it was just because you’re a crack shot.”

Garrus chuckled. “That’s part of it, but being willing to sit in one place for hours on end is pretty essential, too.”

“Sounds awful.”

“And that’s why you’re a terrible sniper.”

Shepard scowled, ignoring the way her still-healing cuts pulled and stung. “I’m a great shot.”

“Yes, but an awful sniper. There’s a big difference.”

“Fine—I’ll cede that you’re the best sniper onboard if you don’t make a habit of diving straight into impossible odds too terribly often.”

He chuckled, and pressed his forehead to hers. “Deal.” He met her green eyes—their fire still not doused, two near-deaths later—with his steady gaze. “But you didn’t agree to my terms.”

“I don’t need _you_ to tell me I’m the biggest badass on this ship.” But she did not move her forehead from where it was still pressed comfortably against his. She brought up a hand to caress his scarred mandible, fingers playing along the memorized pattern. “You’d get bored if I didn’t charge in headfirst from time-to-time.” The tense pull of her brow betrayed the nerves and sorrow her voice did not.

Garrus ran a taloned hand through her hair, twisting it gently in a way he knew comforted her. “Maybe you could do it less often from now on? At least, not without me right there on your six.”

Relief softened her gaze. “Never without you to back me up.”

He turned his head in something that resembled a nuzzle to the arch of her forehead. “Good enough for me.” He released her, pressing his mouth plates briefly to the scar that had so recently made her smile before leaning back. It stung, but Shepard found she did not mind. “Besides, I think I ought to draw your attention to the fact that each time you’ve died or nearly died, I haven’t been there to cover you.”

That got a good laugh out of Shepard, one deep enough to induce a couple of coughs. But a familiar tightness was embedded in her chest, and a prickling at the edges of her eyes after the amusement ended.

There was a comforting, sympathetic rumble from Garrus’ sub-vocals.

Shepard rested her cheek on his shoulder, focusing on the stinging pain that ran through it, rather than the stubborn tears intent on forming. “Glad to have you, Garrus.” Her voice remained clear with practiced ease.

“Likewise, Shepard.”

She chuckled, and the tightness in her chest eased. “We are alone, _Vakarian_.”

His mandibles spread in a small smile. “It seemed appropriate at the time, anyway, _Commander_. You’ll forgive me if I still enjoy calling you the name I met you by.”

“Mmhm.” She wondered if he knew the feeling might have overflowed if she had heard her given name now—she could count on one hand the number of times she had heard it since she enlisted.

“I could help you into bed—it might be more comfortable.”

She raised her head to look at him, muscles groaning. “Only if we’re doing more interesting things than resting.”

The turian sighed. “You need—”

“To hell with what I ‘need’—have Chakwas set me up with another of those shots and I’ll be fine.”

“Just because you can’t feel the consequences of what you’re doing doesn’t mean there aren’t any.”

“Garrus—”

“No.”

Shepard snapped her mouth shut. Blinked. “Garrus Vakarian—”

“Please.”

She gazed at him evenly. “Why?”

“I want you to heal properly, Shepard, and you can be damn sure I won’t be responsible for you getting hurt.”

“You won’t.”

There was a glint of steel in his eyes that she had not seen since the episode with Sidonis. Neither of them did emotions very well. Perhaps that was for the best.

She sighed. “You’d rather not face Dr. Chakwas’ wrath, either, I suppose.”

His gaze softened; he touched her arm lightly. “I can’t imagine anyone who does.”

“I suppose I won’t subject you to it,” she said lightly. Shepard offered her arm. “Stay with me?”

Garrus’ mandibles twitched in amusement, and a tender note entered his sub-harmonics. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I left your six uncovered now?” He wrapped a firm arm around her back, clasping her forearm in the opposite hand, supporting her weight. She hissed softly upon standing.

Her chuckle was slightly strained. “We really need another title for you.”

“And what would you suggest?” His voice was light, but there was an uncertain waver in his sub-vocals.

The corner of her mouth quirked in a smirk. “I was hoping you could tell me wh— _shit._ ” Her foot caught and Garrus’ grip tightened, irritating every cut and bruise she had. “EDI!”

{ _Yes, Shepard?_ }

“Get Dr. Chakwas up here with another needle of whatever she gave me earlier so I can—”

{ _Dr. Chakwas clearly stated—_ }

“I’m injured, but I’m not decommissioned, EDI! I’m still in command of—”

{ _—that your health was under no circumstances to be—_ }

“—this vessel.”

{ _—compromised for—_ }

“So I can rest, EDI! Hell, I can hardly get to the damn bed. Tell her to get her ass up here now!” Forget daggers; Garrus was quite sure the Commander was glaring concussive shots in the direction of the ceiling.

{ _Right away, Shepard_.}

“That was much harder than it needed to be.” Shepard gritted her teeth as Garrus eased her onto the edge of the bed. “Maybe I need to start reminding my crew that most C.O.’s aren’t quite as _forgiving_ when it comes to well-meant insubordination.”

Garrus raised his brow-plates, arranging a couple pillows behind her to allow for a more upright position when she so chose. “Somehow, I don’t think latrine duty would make them any quieter.”

“Yes, I’m afraid you’d need something a bit more extreme, Commander.” Chakwas strode through the door without ceremony.

“At least you’re prompt; I’m wasting away here, Doctor.”

“So I see.” She arched an eyebrow, raising a fresh syringe as she approached the bed.

Garrus displayed an uncanny ability to remove himself from between Shepard and Chakwas, out of range of the needle and hovering near the fish tank in seconds. “Not to mention it’ll take something pretty creative to make EDI uncomfortable.”

{ _You are correct, Garrus_.}

Chakwas carefully cleaned the injection site, but was not particularly delicate in the way she held her arm, Shepard noticed. “You really should have been resting before it wore off, Commander.”

But Shepard wasn’t listening. “I may not be able to make you _uncomfortable_ , EDI, but I’m sure I can make things _inconvenient_ for you. Do I make myself clear?”

{ _Of course, Shepard_.}

She would swear that was a note of placating amusement. “Just make sure I know if anything happens—I don’t care if I’m dead asleep.” The lines around Chakwas’ mouth tightened at that particular turn of phrase, and there was a pinch as the needle pierced Shepard’s skin. “Dismissed, EDI.”

{ _Good evening, Shepard._ }

The warmth began to seep into Shepard’s aching muscles almost immediately. “Thanks, Doctor.”

“Indeed. Now, do get some real rest, Commander. You can start some very light physical therapy tomorrow to get things moving—as I’m sure you’re anxious to.”

“You have no idea.” Shepard flexed her arms, letting the muscles loosen as much as they could, and lay back on the pillows.

A smile tugged at Chakwas’ lips. “Oh, don’t I?” She turned to leave, pausing a moment when she reached the turian. “Do make sure she rests, Garrus.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Then, Dr. Chakwas was gone, and Garrus returned to Shepard’s side. She raised a hand to pat the empty place on the bed once, grateful for the heat that seeped down to her bones and took the edge off the pain of each movement. He arranged a couple of pillows to compensate for his cowl and fringe, then settled as lightly as he could on the mattress.

“Better?” he asked.

Shepard made a show of snuggling down lower on her pillows. “A bit. I didn’t really need it—it’s mostly to make _you_ feel better, big guy.”

An amused hum from his sub-vocals. “Don’t tell the crew that. It might make them afraid I’ve gone soft, and that’s just bad for morale.”

She rolled the hand she had used to gesture closer to Garrus’ arm, extended a finger, and poked. “Right, because soft is the _first_ thing that comes to mind.”

He caught her fingers in his. “You wouldn’t have it another way.” He tilted his head. “…would you?”

Shepard gave a weary smile, squeezed his hand with as much strength as she could muster past the aches and the relaxant effects of whatever the Hell Chakwas had given her. “I wouldn’t change a thing, Garrus.”

“Good, because I’d be pretty hard pressed to get any softer—I need every edge I can get to keep up with you.”

She chuckled, caressing the top of his hand with her thumb, savoring the heavy texture of his skin—tough as leather, a little like fine sand: softer than she had originally expected, actually. “That you do.” Still prone to rashes on more sensitive areas of her skin, not that she minded the challenge or taking a little extra time after her shower to indulge in a good salve. “Used to call me an adrenaline junkie back in training.”

“And they’d be right.”

A smile still touched her lips. Gradually her thumb slowed in its ministrations.

“Shepard?” Nerves played in his sub-vocals.

“Mm?” Her neck hardly wished to expend the effort to turn her head to observe him properly, his mandibles pressed tight, eyes closed.

He opened them. “Were you… willing—I mean, at the Citadel—were you ready to die?”

Her limbs were much heavier than she remembered. _Shit. Damn it, Chakwas!_ She struggled to keep her eyes on him. “I didn’t want to leave you.” She closed her eyes—just a moment—and sighed. “But I… had to be willing. The galaxy—had to—”

Garrus closed his eyes. “I know, Shepard, and I’d never distrust your judgment on this—I don’t know if I could have made a good decision in your place. But—I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you. Even a Reaper-free galaxy wouldn’t be quite the same without you in it. Look… I know you already promised not to take any more risks like that without me, but—give this awful turian a break, and let me hear it one more time?”

Not a sound.

“Shepard?” He opened his eyes to find her still, chest falling with each even breath. “Shepard. Serious confession. Shepard? Shepard! Marian?” She did not stir, hand still in his. “Commander!”

Garrus felt his mandibles spread in a small smile. He turned to run his unoccupied talons through her hair, already a little mussed on the pillow. “No more nightmares, then. Not tonight. If I have to make it an order, I will.” He regarded her still form as sternly as he was able; it did not last long before fading into a look that was soft, indeed. Garrus pressed his forehead gently to Shepard’s. He never did claim to be a good turian. “Spirits,” he whispered, settling back down beside her. “What now?”


	4. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javik none-too-gently offers his opinion on Shepard's solution.

Shepard was stirred awake by pain, becoming more and more restless without a conscious knowledge of _why_. Until—

“Oh, God…” She cleared her throat, shifted, and—

“SpiritskeelahmakerhellenkindlersgoddessDAMN.” She hissed through her teeth, and lay as still as she could manage. “What the Hell?”

“It’s always worse the second day,” Garrus reminded her, an amused trill in his voice.

“I would never have remembered if you hadn’t told me,” she growled, making a valiant effort to glare at the turian beside her without actually turning her head.

He took pity and propped himself on an elbow to peer down at her, mirth in his eyes.

“You also fail to recognize that this is really four weeks in, not two days.”

Garrus shrugged, chuckling. “As far as your body is concerned, you’ve been conscious only a few hours. You slept—this is day two, according to your body. The rule still applies.”

Shepard closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than to roll her stiff shoulders, but knowing better. “That’s not scientific at all, Vakarian. Hell, it’s not even medical.”

“We’re soldiers, Shepard, not scientists—thank the Spirits for that.”

She laughed, then coughed, then groaned as the pain shook her body. “Shit, Garrus—don’t make me laugh.”

His mandibles spread in a grin. “All of you is barely holding up as it is?”

Shepard narrowed her eyes. “If I didn’t think it was a definite possibility my arm would get stuck halfway, I’d sock you in the shoulder.”

“And _you_ thought you were up for more strenuous activities.”

The commander raised her eyebrows, despite the stinging. “Come a bit closer and I’ll show you just what kind of—” His tongue rasped across her lips, eyes mischievous, replying before she could recover:

“How about I just call Dr. Chakwas and see how you make it to breakfast first?” His eyes glinted in a way that made heat pool low in her stomach, mandibles hitching up in a grin that promised bloodshed or sex.

“If—”

“Commander!” A pounding at the door. “Commander!”

Shepard shifted to rise, muscles aflame and groaning, jaw clenched tight—but Garrus placed a hand on her chest.

“Commander! I demand to speak with you immediately.”

There was a low sound in Garrus’ chest that she didn’t recognize. He opened his mouth to reply, but Shepard beat him to it.

“Javik, I—” Her voice caught, became a cough.

“You can come back—”

Shepard pressed his hand off her chest. “Javik, I’ll address your concerns as soon as I’ve seen Dr. Chakwas. Please wait for me in—”

“Commander! Javik, please—this is no time for harassing Shepard. You can speak to her once I have administered her medication. Please go downstairs. She can speak with you once I have cleared her.”

“ _Human_ —”

“On my authority as a physician, Javik— _go_ , or I’ll make sure she’s unconscious for the next twelve hours. She’s no use to you if she can’t answer your questions. She can address your _very legitimate_ concerns once she can move on her own. Now—if you please.”

There was a taut silence, Shepard and Garrus’ eyes fixed on the door. Indistinct mumbling from the other side—then, the metallic swish of the elevator doors.

“You can let me in now, EDI,” said the doctor.

“Please,” added Shepard.

{ _Of course. Good morning, Shepard; Garrus._ }

The locking interface flashed green and the door slid open.

“Good morning, EDI,” they replied as Dr. Chakwas approached Shepard’s side of the bed. “Excellent timing, Doctor.” Shepard gave her a crooked grin.

“I told EDI to contact me when you woke. How are you feeling this morning, Commander?” She gently clasped a silver cuff around Shepard’s wrist, then laid her fingers over it, omni-tool flickering as it interfaced with the device.

“A little stiff, but that’s expected.”

A poorly muffled snort from the turian beside her.

“And rather sore, too, I imagine.” The shadow of an amused smile slipped over her features. “But that’s also to be expected for the next few days, at least. The good news is that it will improve a bit each day.”

“Good—stick me, and I’ll go deal with Javik.”

“Shepard, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, Garrus, I do.” Chakwas removed the cuff and administered the shot. “He deserves answers as much as anyone else, and he’s waited more than a month now for them. Besides, I still haven’t gotten to walk the ship; I haven’t seen everyone yet.”

“An extra twelve hours,” muttered Garrus, but Chakwas spoke over him:

“Once you’ve talked and eaten, you can come back to the med bay, Shepard. I have some light exercise I need you to do to make sure all your joints and tendons are working properly, and I’ll be scanning your implants to make sure they’re still functioning with your organic parts as they should. Light work only, as I said, and, please, _no_ biotics until I say otherwise.”

“Yes, Doctor.” She felt comfortable trying to flex both arms and hands—sore, but a success. “Thanks.”

“I know you’re not good at it, but try to be careful?”

Her lips drew in a smirk. “I’ll see what I can do, Garrus. Why don’t you head to the Battery? I’m sure you have some pressing—”

“It so happens I _do_ have a little work.” The turian raised his brow plates and stood. “But if you need anything—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure EDI will tattle if I try anything.”

He nodded. “Fine. I’ll see you for lunch, Shepard.”

“Don’t speak to Javik before I do,” she called just as he entered the elevator.

“Yes, Commander.”

The doors slid shut.

Chakwas chuckled. “I almost wish you hadn’t asked it of him.”

“Amusing, but not worth the damages,” Shepard agreed.

Chakwas produced a ration bar from her pocket. “Now eat, and you can get to settling things, and don’t forget to come see me.”

The commander shook her head, accepting the rations. “I saved the whole damn galaxy, and still can’t get breakfast that doesn’t taste like shit.” She chuckled.

Dr. Chakwas moved briskly toward the door as Shepard opened the packet. “We’ll see, Commander.”

She was gone before Shepard could ask what, exactly, she had meant.

 

Shepard found Javik brooding (perhaps “fuming” was more accurate) on the third floor, immediately outside the elevator in the corridor, before the memorial wall.

Brilliant. Just great. Fine. Who the Hell arranged this?

“Commander,” he growled; she was barely out of the elevator, taking short, careful strides (always strides—never steps and definitely _not_ hobbling, and only the occasional limp), “ _what have you done?_ You have granted us no victory! You have given the Reapers precisely what they need to destroy—”

“Javik, I did what was best under the circumstances.”

“No—the Reapers now have more time to indoctrinate and crush us in this false ceasefire! You are a fool if you think our opponents will do otherwise. You could have destroyed them with the power of the Crucible, and you chose to do _nothing!_ ”

Shepard felt her jaw tighten, pulling at her skin and scars. “I wasn’t willing to trade an entire race when I could—”

“They are no race. They are synthetic—useful enough, but when the time came, a small enough thing to trade against so powerful an enemy!”

Her fingers were twitching for her Carnifex, despite the patience she was attempting to employ. _Different time, different place, different beliefs_ ; _you know the feeling, Shepard: the confusion, the anger, the uncertainty getting up off your table in that Cerberus lab_ —it was her usual mantra when dealing with the Prothean, and it was rapidly becoming insufficient.

“You think you could have done better, Javik?”

“I would not have faltered with selfish concerns! Victory—whatever the cost. You were willing to give your own life, but not that of another? I do not believe it. Your desire to live outweighed your mission’s success. You are weak, Shepard!”

That did it.

“Javik, if you don’t like it, you can _get the Hell off my ship!_ ” They stood nearly chest-to-chest, the commander leering up in such a way that most would feel like she was in fact, glaring down at them. “But know this: I will always be willing to give my life to the cause, but I sure as Hell won’t trade someone else’s in my place. You see the names on that wall? I didn’t trade them for victory: they traded their _own_ lives. Any fool can give someone else in their place.” One placard— _Kaidan Alenko_ —peered at her, as though it recognized the words she had used to comfort Ash after Virmire. It seemed to know, too, that the words had been as much for her as for the Chief. She sighed; there was a headache starting at the base of her skull as she tried to keep her biotics from flaring up. “I know this is going to take work watching the Reapers _and_ our people. If we can make it work—great. If not, I’ll make sure we find another course of action, are we clear?” Shepard could feel the electric tension as the Prothean kept his own biotics under control, his eyes glinting, still looking like he wanted nothing better than to throw the human to the other end of the ship. “Don’t let the sucking vortex get to you when you step out the airlock; I hear it’s a bitch.”

She kept her gaze away from Alenko’s name with some success, but consequently caught _Thane Krios_ out of the corner of her eye, and found she wanted some advice.

Damn her doubts, and damn everyone else’s.

The Prothean stared, his yellow eyes unreadable as ever. “Commander.”

“Javik.”

“I will consider what you have said, though I do not agree.” He strode past her, summoning the elevator. “We will speak again.” The elevator doors slid, shut, and Shepard leaned against the wall, alongside the placards, deliberately not considering the names she would have to add.

“What the Hell does that mean?”

She didn’t see the mess sergeant, the doctor, the Shadow-Broker, and the turian around the corner, not sure whether to smother their laughter, chance offering some support, or creep away before their commander caught them eavesdropping.


	5. Visitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard re-unites with the rest of the crew, and gets an important call from Hackett. The galaxy can only go without answers for so long.

Shepard's next stop was the CIC, where Traynor and Ashley nearly knocked her to the ground.

"When I found out you were up and they hadn't told me, I was _pissed!_ "

Shepard chuckled. "I'd wondered about that, Ash."

The women released her.

"My God, Commander, I thought she was going to throttle Joker and storm your cabin." Traynor smiled; both women looked none the worse for wear--dark circles told of disturbed sleep, but that was not unusual, all things considered.

"Hey, I know better than to deck the pilot." Ashley shrugged. "I knew you'd need your rest, so I refrained from coming up and breaking your door down."

Shepard shook her head, taking note of the brace her friend sported on her left wrist. Not a recoil wound, then—more likely a bad run-in with a husk or an unexpected fall.  "I would've let you come up—page me next time."

"What, next time you nearly die?"

A lopsided grin. "Absolutely. You don't think I'm going to give up the habit now?"

"It'd be a big relief if you did." Ashley crossed her arms, shaking her head.

"You'd all be bored."

Traynor interrupted before Ashley could argue. "Commander, Admiral Hackett is available on vid-com—he asked to speak to you as soon as possible."

Shepard nodded. "I'll bet he did. Time to tell the Alliance just what the Hell is going on and hope we can keep them all in line."

A frown tugged at Ashley's lips. "I'm not sure about all this, Commander. I assume you have a plan?"

"How long have I been doing this now, Ash?" She flashed a winning smile over her shoulder as she headed to the War Room.

"Skipper, I don't feel comforted at all!"

"I didn't say no."

"But you didn't say yes."

"Better get on it, then, Spectre Williams." And the door slid shut behind her, concealing her smirk.

 

Shepard’s conversation with the admiral left her thinking a trip to the med-bay was the best course of action, body nearly vibrating with tension.

“Karin,” she greeted the doctor, taking a seat in the nearest chair.

Chakwas turned from her terminal, brows arched to her silver hair. “That doesn’t bode well. What is it, Shepard?”

The commander’s fingers played across her lap. “Hackett wanted to promote me.”

“Sounds like congratulations are in order, Captain. What’s wrong?” She rose and fetched the silver cuff from a drawer again.

“Not captain. They want me to be an admiral.”

“And you declined, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

Chakwas fastened it around her wrist, and activated her omni-tool, patiently checking the readings. Shepard’s fingers still did not want to remain still, curing and uncurling around a grip and trigger that were not there.

“I’d replace Anderson.” The commander’s green eyes were downcast, a little hair falling over her forehead.

The doctor nodded slowly. “A difficult thing, to be sure.”

“He thought it was because I’m afraid of being stuck behind a desk. Tried to tell me that the way things stand now, I’d be in the field, just in charge of more ships—have more say.”

Chakwas fetched a second cuff for Shepard’s right wrist, and fastened it. “Hands still, please, Commander.” Shepard tried, but the index finger of her right hand kept tapping on her thigh, half-curled.

“I can’t replace him.”

“You didn’t want the title of captain when you took over the _Normandy_ , either. As I recall, you were relieved they didn’t offer it in light of the fact that you technically hijacked the ship.”

A corner of Shepard’s mouth hitched in a half-grin. “My not-quite-ethical strategies finally did some good.”

“Ethical, but not-quite-legal, I think, Shepard.” Chakwas smiled. “Now—” She stepped back, omni-tool still glowing, “—stand for me, please.”

She did.

“Touch your toes. Hands above your head.”

“And they need me to play envoy to the Reapers as soon as possible. Apparently some of the fleets want to launch an immediate attack, but others are afraid it’s a trap. Personally, I think the ones considering it a trap are the ones we need to keep around.”

“Likely the smartest. Hands to each side, as far as you can, then across your chest.”

Shepard followed each instruction, wincing slightly when she happened to over-exert.

“So what’s the soonest you can clear me?”

“See if you can balance on one leg. Now the other.” Significant wobbling but the ability was there. “You won’t be fully combat-ready for at least two weeks, though your implants seem to be working fine, and as long as we have you on a regimen, your mobility will recover fully. Other duties can begin in as soon as five days.”

“Five--!”

“And only if you rest properly.” Chakwas fixed the commander under a stern glare and removed the silver cuffs.

“All right.”

“Good.” Her gaze softened. “Now, I’ll send the light exercise details to your private terminal, and I would recommend a shower—it’ll help loosen your muscles. Don’t worry about your lacerations; they’re healing well. Just don’t feel the need to try to scrub them off.”

Shepard nodded. “Thanks, doctor.”

“But make sure you have lunch before you do anything else.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Chakwas.” She chuckled, but her mood was now doubly soured. The mess sergeant seemed to sense this, because he remained silent when serving her ration—something that looked like a vegetable stew.

Hackett had been bitterly disappointed that Shepard declined his promotion—enough that he had not offered another. She might now be ready to become a captain, but could not say she was particularly disappointed. She had a feeling that was not the last she would hear on the subject.

Two more weeks. Two damn weeks until she could engage in combat. It wasn’t just an inconvenience; it was a hazard. Playing envoy to the Reapers while weakened did not bode well, and standing between them and the rest of the galaxy when she could not fight was idiocy. If the galactic armies and Reapers didn’t tear her apart, she’d go stir-crazy.

Maybe the shower was a good idea. She could change, and strap a light pistol to her hip, doctor’s orders be damned. The weight would be nice even if she couldn’t use if effectively. And then she could take her pick with bothering the rest of the crew. Yes. A good plan.

“EDI.”

{ _Yes, Commander?_ }

“What is Lieutenant Vega’s location? Still in the shuttle bay?”

{ _He chose to return to Earth while you were incapacitated. He has been alerted of your recovery and will arrive on the_ Normandy _at approximately 1700 this evening._ }

“Thanks. Cortez is with him, I take it?”

{ _Yes, Shepard. He departed with the shuttle to fetch the Lieutenant this morning._ }

“Good. Thank you, EDI.”

{ _You are welcome, Commander_.}

Harassing the engineers, then. Shepard let the thought push her tension aside. Maybe they would be up for some Skyllian-Five.

 

Freshly showered, clean navy fatigues, and a Predator on her hip (anyone crossing the Commander chose not to comment, regardless of Dr. Chakwas’ rules), Shepard headed down to deck four. The engineers were up for some S-5, as it turned out, and that meant the commander, Adams, Donnelly, Daniels, and Tali were seated around the table in the Starboard Lounge. The engineers had refused to serve Shepard anything stronger than a cup of coffee, failing to realize that military-brewed coffee had a kick equivalent to bad whiskey.

Tali had arguably the best poker face, so she was winning the current hand, but Shepard knew the quarian tended to tilt her head to the right when bluffing (since the cards prevented her from twisting her fingers together—the more noticeable nervous habit) so the commander felt pretty confident about her chances of pulling ahead. Donnelly was up one (couldn’t bluff if he wanted to), Daniels up two, Adams up one (bad luck), and Tali tied with Shepard three hands each, overall.

“So, Commander, what’s it like?”

Shepard rearranged her hand, put it in reverse numerical. “What’s what like, Donnelly?”

“Dyin’ twice.” (He was also down three whiskeys.)

Daniels slapped his arm and Shepard decided it was an excellent moment to shoot the rest of her coffee. “ _Ken!_ ” (She was down only two beers.)

“What? I doan’ mean any disrespect, Commander—it’s just right bloody amazing.”

“It’s… fine, Ken. I’m not sure if I was technically dead last time—no one ever said.” Damn. Now Tali could be uncomfortable with the conversation, not bluffing. The quarian put a pair of cards face-down.

“We don’t need to worry after it, Commander.” Adams put an elbow to Donnelly’s ribs. (Down only a bottle of water.) “Just glad to have you here.”

“Out,” Tali called, placing five together.

It was enough to distract the Scott. “Oh, already? Dammit, girl!”

“I don’t know…” Daniels squinted at the quarian.

“What? You want to challenge it?” She folded her arms.

“ _I_ might want to, Tali.” Shepard cocked her head, fixing the woman under a steely gaze. There it was—Tali had crossed her arms, but her fingers were looking to twist together, her head tilted at just the right angle.

“Well, Shepard?”

“Lola!”

And Shepard was swept into a crushing grip from behind.

“Damn, Vega! Shit—” That pop sent a shock through the nerves across her arm. “Put me down!”

Tali almost upturned her chair. “James, please—she’s not healed yet!”

“Aw, shit, Commander—sorry.” He set her down with more care, but her chest and shoulders were throbbing.

Shepard turned to face them as Cortez slapped the lieutenant on the shoulder. “You saw her when they brought her in from the Citadel. Come on, James!”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah—sorry… she just seems kinda unbreakable.”

Cortez extended a hand. “Shepard—glad to have you back.” She clasped it, and if he noticed that her grip wasn’t what it should be, he gave no sign.

“ _Dios_ , Lola! Maybe I need to start calling _you_ Scars.”

Shepard grinned, rubbing her shoulder in a practiced motion. “Tali says I’m rugged.”

“Well—” The quarian shifted uncomfortably.

James laughed. “Me gusta—she does. But considering how you got ‘em, I should’ve been calling you ‘loco’ from the beginning.”

“It’s a talent, Vega.”

“I’ll say!” agreed Donnelly, who nearly got another slap from Daniels.

James folded his arms. “Think you’re ready to teach me that trick?”

She chuckled. “Let’s focus on the skills you’ll need for the N7s, then we can move up to the big death and resurrection stuff.” Joking about it, good. Actual feelings? Bad. Very bad.

“Damn.” He gave a ‘foiled again’ gesture that was likely lost on Tali. “But seriously, Commander—you up to starting my training?”

Shepard arched an eyebrow. “What, fighting the Reapers wasn’t enough for you?”

“Well, it’s not that, exactly—that was fun and everything—but I think some more traditional training might be good?”

“All right, Vega, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

His brow furrowed. “About what, Lola?”

A smirk. “Oh, you’ll see, just as soon as I’m cleared for full duty. For now, meet me in the shuttle bay—oh-six-hundred every morning.”

“Gracias, Commander.”

Adams chuckled. “Oh, you won’t be thanking her long.”

“What?”

“Why don’t you two join us? This hand is shot—we’ll deal you in.” Shepard shot Adams a warning look, and the chief engineer just shook his head.

He turned his attention to his still-full coffee cup. “You’ll be all right, boy—she’s just a hard-ass.” But the first sip of rather tepid liquid hid a smirk.

Shepard resumed her seat, keeping him fixed in her glare. “I think it’s _your_ turn to brew the coffee, Adams.” He chuckled, and grabbed her cup.

Cortez pulled up a stool as James took the only unoccupied seat. “Thanks, Commander. Skyllian-Five or hold ‘em?”

James waved a hand. “Skyllian-Five—I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing the engineers know how to play.”

Daniels narrowed her eyes. “Oh, yeah, Lieutenant?”

Tali collected the cards into the deck (and it wasn’t lost on Shepard that the quarian so easily agreed to ditch the last hand), “We’ll just see.”


	6. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus suggests a way Shepard might be able to ease a little tension, but possibly in vain as the Catalyst comes to call, and things start to look more serious.

Over the next three days, Shepard picked up the pace. Communications with Hackett, the Primarch, the Crucible team, and the remnants of the galactic fleet were frequent, and more often than not, heated. The politics of the remaining fight left her with little patience, and Dr. Chakwas’ refusal to clear the commander for any departure from the _Normandy_ made it all the worse. The second morning, Shepard overslept and missed her session with Vega, who took it well since she was healing, but at Chakwas’ behest, the sessions were postponed. This did not help. Had Shepard been so restless while healthy, most of the crew would be sure to avoid their commander lest they be challenged to some “friendly” match or other. Now, they kept out of her way not sure exactly what might happen should she succumb to her tempter, knowing that whatever happened when Shepard felt this confined, it would not be good. Commander Shepard was a terrible patient.

On the third evening, she was in her quarters, pacing parallel to the empty fish tank—poor buggers bit the dust (gravel?) sometime during the final push when power to excess systems was cut in favor of the defense and weapons system. Garrus came up from the Battery to find Shepard in this endless circuit, brows knitted together, jaw tight.

“You look like you’re harboring some tension,” he teased.

She halted, glanced up. Leered. “Don’t tempt me if you can’t deliver, Vakarian.”

His mandibles spread in a smirk. “Do you really think I’m that cruel, Shepard?”

“Says the man who, after shooting Mr. ‘Fade’ in the foot, wanted to go back and finish the job even though he was already tracking his main target.”

“That—”

“And beat the Hell out of him before shooting said foot.”

“You can’t—”

“And shot down two bodyguards before they could draw their weapons in order to even _find_ Fade.”

“As I recall, you were—”

“And fights through hordes of mercenaries, geth, and Reapers by blowing their heads off before they even know what’s going on?” She’d effectively stolen his smirk.

Garrus folded his arms, cocking his head. “Says the woman who scares the piss out of everything she comes across with a biotic charge and a _Carnifex_ instead of a proper shotgun. Who taught you CQC, anyway?”

She winked, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. “My secret. Besides, the Carnifex is my little addition to my original training. Didn’t I tell you I had a Model One Carnifex get me off Akuze? Couldn’t help but get attached.”

The turian gave a thoughtful hum. “After Grunt’s rite you told me a little.”

Shepard nodded. “Remind me—I’ll have to finish the story for you sometime soon… bring Grunt along, maybe. I have a feeling he’ll appreciate that particular tale.”

Garrus chuckled. “As though he needs more—” (Her translator hiccupped here, eventually selecting “fodder” as an acceptable equivalent) “—for his hero-worship.”

“I’m pretty sure krogan don’t do hero worship unless the hero is the krogan himself.”

He shook his head. “Nope—your boy worships you, Battlemaster.”

The commander arched an eyebrow, blue glow from the fish tank highlighting her scars.

“All right—I won’t tease, but you _did_ practically raise him. Got him a rite of passage, taught him how to play nice with others…”

“Garrus.”

“Ok.” He raised his talons. “Besides, I actually wasn’t teasing about the tension—you looked like you might try to introduce Traynor to your Predator earlier for telling you Hackett was on vid-com again.” He gestured to the pistol she had taken to wearing after the first day, still in its holster around her thigh.

Shepard crossed her arms. “I answered the call immediately.”

“Yes, but the look on your face was one I thought I wouldn’t see again for a _call_ after the Illusive Man nearly got us killed in the Reaper trap.”

She returned her hands to her sides, fingers of her right hand absently tracing the holster delicately. “Can’t go around frightening the crew, I guess.”

“Right—that’s why I decided we could cheat a little.” Garrus raised his brow plates, a distinct hum playing in his voice, one that sent little shivers of warmth through Shepard’s chest to pool in her abdomen.

“You’ve got my attention, Vakarian: keep talking.”

“The fact that the prospect of breaking the rules gets your attention should probably worry me more—or at least worry the Alliance.” His eyes glinted with amusement.

“Hell, if you and the Alliance don’t know that by now—”

“I’m sure you have some lovely property just the other side of the Omega-4 you’d love to sell me.”

Shepard grinned. “That’s pretty good: with the collectors gone, it’s prime real estate.”

“Spirits—I know better than to give you ideas.”

“Maybe.” She drew him closer by his cowl, and he obliged, pressing his forehead to hers. “Now what, exactly, did you have in mind, Garrus?”

“Well… ah….” His chuckle was laced with the nervous tremor of his sub-harmonics, mandibles flicking. “Mm—it’s terrible—as soon as the joking stops, it’s almost like the first night—”

“We just haven’t had nearly enough practice with a damn war on.” She mimicked the affectionate turn of the head he had taught her, and was pleased to find an easier rumble answer.

“There _is_ that.”

“Come on, Vakarian—you’re a master of strategy; you brought one in. What is it?”

That got a richer laughed out of him. “A _battle_ strategy?” An amused flick of his mandibles.

A sly grin tugged at Shepard’s lips. “I’m not opposed.”

Garrus cocked his head in surprise. Mock-surprise? Shepard still had some trouble discerning the subtle differences. “Well, now that you’ve given me permission, I might have to go no-holds-barred.”

Shepard chuckled. “About time.” She traced her fingers over the soft skin of his neck, across the scars on his cheek and mandible. “I told you, you didn’t have to rely on the research.”

He pressed his mouth plates to her neck, flicked his tongue over her skin. “I wanted you to be comfortable.” His fingers made quick work of the buttons on her shirt, and he pressed it off her shoulders; it slid down her arms to the floor.

“The basics were a good idea, but—” She hissed lightly as Garrus’ mouth clamped gently over her shoulder. “—I’m comfortable because it’s you.”

He laved his tongue across the skin of her shoulder, humming; his mandibles rested gently on either side of his mouth, pricking lightly into her collarbone and bicep. His teeth grazed the skin, gentle enough not to disturb any healing injuries, as he lifted his head. “Good to know.”

Shepard’s fingers found his waist, playing a gentle rhythm over his civvies—gods, was it more convenient than the armor—a gentle thrum filled his chest. He caught her wrists and laid them aside. “There was a small hole in my plan.”

“And what was that?” Shepard’s fingers were restless even as she allowed the turian to keep her wrists.

“How to gently get you to the bed and successfully convince you not to try anything too… involved.”

The commander’s gaze hardened. “We’re going to cheat and I can’t participate?”

Garrus shook his head. “You _do_ remember our conversation about injuries and me not being responsible for more damage?”

“Garrus—”

“It’ll be worth it.”

“But—”

“Please?” He released a wrist and ran a careful talon her waist, trailing across her hips, her thigh. “It’s _bending_ the rules.” He kissed Shepard after the human fashion—gentle with his mouth plates, caressing her tongue with his, laving it expertly across every sensitive surface he could find, and flicked the tip over the roof of her mouth. When Garrus felt her smile against him, he knew she had effectively picked up on the hint.

“This once, Vakarian, and make it good,” she murmured, kissing him again.

“You’ll change your mind about the frequency.” Shepard could feel the rumble of his sub-vocals through her chest.

She grinned. “Challenge accepted, then, Officer.”

He nodded to the bed. “If you don’t mind, Commander?”

Shepard obliged, crossing and sitting on the edge, a slight grin on her lips, thoughts of the great many possibilities this sort of thing opened for later, when she was well, and—

And Garrus was kneeling between her legs, nuzzling her heat through her clothes. All future prospects went straight out the window.

“Damn!” She moaned as the appreciative hum stimulated the flesh he was so insistently nuzzling. She felt the holster around her thigh loosen, slackening against the coarse fabric of her fatigues, then a click as he removed the pistol. She didn’t see him check the safety, but knew Garrus would not be trailing it along her thigh that way if he hadn’t. Or maybe he knew the adrenaline would make her heady, her blood rush, and heat pool between her legs if he didn’t.

He made quick work of her trousers, letting them fall around her ankles. The cool air settled over her hips, her thighs, made her shiver. He pressed her thighs apart gently—talons caressing her bruises and newly-made flesh tenderly—just enough to give him room without over-exerting her sore tendons. Shepard felt his hot breath first, and lay back, trailing her fingers along his arms. She did not have to look to know the turian bastard was smirking, but when he traced his tongue along her slit, Shepard found she did not care. He flicked the tip over her clit. Let him smirk. The tension was ebbing away, her jaw relaxing, a pleasant warmth spreading through her body and yes!—his tongue circled her clit— _yes!_ the tip teased and laved her entrance.

“Oh, gods…”

He was lapping gently, Shepard’s moans encouraging him, tracing his talons along the inside of her thighs, a marvelous coupling to the ministrations of his tongue increasing in pace—

{ _Commander, I apologize, but there is a matter which requires—_ }

“God-fucking-damn-it, EDI!” Shepard swung into a sitting position, wrenching the muscles in her stomach and sending Garrus back on his heels. Her head spun.

{ _\--your attention._ }

“ _Is the ship compromised?_ ”

{ _No, Commander. I apologize if I have interrupted._ }

Garrus raised his brow plates and mandibles in the equivalent of an eye-roll. “ _If_ she’s interrupted,” he muttered.

“Then what the Hell is it?”

{ _The Catalyst demands to speak with you in the comm room immediately._ }

Shepard’s cheeks were flushed—in anger, Garrus recognized, for the color did not reach her ears—and she made no move to re-clothe herself. Her voice was steady: “Tell it that I’ll be down in ten.”

{ _I’m sorry, Shepard, but it wishes to see you now. It threatened to override the_ Normandy _’s systems if it is refused, and I would advise not to push the matter. While I would do my best, I am afraid it would be little against an intelligence so old._ }

Shepard was frustrated enough not to tease the AI about her turn of phrase regarding fear, tugged her trousers from around her ankles, and belted them at her waist. Garrus narrowly avoided a collision by hopping backward. He stood.

Her voice was as usual; professional, stern. “I’ll be right down.”

{ _Thank you, Commander_.}

And as soon as she was sure EDI was no longer actively listening, Shepard uttered the first word that came to mind: “Fuck.”

“Or not.”

She didn’t even turn to face the turian. “Garrus.”

“Yes, Marian?”

She shot him a Look. “Don’t even.”

“Of course, Commander.” The bastard was smirking.

“You can stay here until I’m done with my little discussion.”

 ------

“The Earth Alliance has retrieved what you have called the Crucible.”

Shepard folded her arms. “Yes, they have.”

The thing stood in the vid-com station, still shrouded in a child’s form; it raised the hair on the commander’s neck.

The AI narrowed its eyes. This time around, Shepard had enough mind to wonder if it was something she added—if the shape of the Catalyst was something she impressed upon it—or if it had studied enough of humans to reach such a level of imitation. “This was not part of the bargain.”

“It’s also not against the bargain.” Shepard made a flippant gesture with her hand, arms still folded. “It was never addressed.”

“You could attempt to destroy us after promising otherwise.”

“As I recall, Catalyst, the Crucible won’t work without your power or jumping point or whatever the science is. And destroying you was one of the first options, wasn’t it? One that you pointed out yourself?” The Commander arched an eyebrow. See if the damn thing could pick up on _that_ piece of body language.

“Deceit was not. This is still a matter that needs to be addressed.”

“Didn’t say it wasn’t. I can’t say I blame the Alliance for wanting to keep it—they fear you, as is only wise, I think—and it’s useful if this… truce... goes to Hell.”

“It is evidence of organic weakness.” Apparently scoffing was well within the Catalyst’s imitative capability. “Fear serves little purpose in higher thinking—if a pact is made, it will be kept. Paranoia leads to conflicts like your Earth’s Cold War or Sur’Kesh’s wars among the early STG programs. It leads only to destruction; the primitive emotion belongs only in animals that have no power to form treaties.”

“It’s only useless if sentient beings no longer have the ability to lie,” said Shepard.

“Fortunate, then,” said the image, unwavering, blue and silver light playing over the wall behind it, “that artificial intelligence cannot.”

For a moment, she froze, eyes fixed on the Catalyst. The Commander used a practiced technique to regulate her breathing—one, two, hold—one, two, hold— “I’ll advise them, but the Crucible is a useful piece of technology. We will want to study it further, though I will make sure no one moves against the treaty.”

The childlike image fixed its hollow eyes upon her. “Do. If the organics will not agree to the terms we have set, we will exterminate them. The cycle will continue.”

Shepard’ jaw tightened. “Understood. We will keep the terms as you keep them, I can assure you.”

“Acceptable. We will speak with you again, Commander Shepard. We will grant your… AI the ability to contact us. Inform us when you have made the arrangements with the organics to rebuild.”

Her hands clasped behind her back. “I will.”

The image winked out, but Shepard did not relax her posture until she had exited the War Room. (If there was no war, what did that make it? the communications hub? a galactic alliance contact center? And, Hell—they needed a new lab, not a conference room, come to think of it). There was little room for that train of thought, however, as Shepard strode swiftly to the cockpit (quickly, actually, not swiftly, with the uncomfortable bruising still present in her lower back, and the still-healing joints—less limping, though… definitely less limping).

“EDI,” she addressed the figure in the co-pilot’s seat.

“Yes, Shepard?”

“How did the Catalyst tell you we could contact it?”

“What, no hello?” Joker groused.

Shepard ignored him.

“It gave me a signature and co-ordinates.”

The Commander nodded, pacing once around the narrow space, weaving behind and between the seats. “Is there any trace of that thing on the ship?”

The AI watched her movements, unnatural stillness raising the hairs on her neck again. Damn Catalyst. EDI was sure to notice, and after so long being comfortable with her, after all that she had learned from the Geth... goddamn Catalyst should pay for setting her back. “No, Shepard, and if there is, it is well-hidden, and not enough to spy on our communications.”

“And you have the ability to lie, don’t you, EDI?”

“Geez, you’re really damn pushy today—all questions, no greeting…”

Shepard barely glanced over her shoulder at him, chin propped on his hand, elbow resting on the arm of his chair. “Joker, do me a favor.”

“Yeah, Commander?”

“Shut up.”

He frowned. “Aye, aye, Commander.”

EDI cocked her head to look at Shepard with something that resembled concern. “I do have the ability to lie, as you know, but I do not deceive my fellow crewmembers in matters of importance.”

“I know, EDI—I ask because I need to know: what’s to stop the Catalyst from lying?” Her hands were clasped behind her back, rigid, hip regretting the missing weight of her predator, gun and holster still lying on the floor beside her bed.

“Nothing,” EDI answered.

“Shit.” Whether it came from the Commander’s own lips or drifted from the pilot’s chair was debatable.


	7. To Meet, Perchance to Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does one continue combat during a delicate treaty, exactly?

“Things just got a lot more complicated.” Shepard stood at the head of the table in the conference room, around which she had crowded as many of her crew as she could fit—the rest milled in the corners and just outside the enclosed space.

“That’s an understatement.” Miranda’s arms were folded, back to the nearest wall. She stood between Tali and Joker, seated at the table.

“At least things were simple before.” Vega was crammed between Cortez and Adams. “Find a way to kill ‘em and not end up muerto.”

“Which wasn’t really simple, but I get your point,” said Tali.

“This political shit just isn’t our thing, is it, Commander?” asked Donnelly, between Adams and Daniels.

“Exactly,” Shepard agreed.

Ashley shrugged, her lithe form propped in the doorframe. “I don’t know—we have a Galactic Alliance thanks to your work, Skipper.”

Garrus chuckled, leaning on the wall opposite Shepard at the far end of the table. “As I recall, that required more force than diplomacy. Two Reapers to convince them—one for the krogan, and one for the quarians and Geth, I believe?”

“And yelling,” Joker added. “Don’t forget the yelling.”

“I don’t think yelling at the Catalyst will solve our problems, Joker.” Shepard crossed her arms, rolling her shoulders.

“Hey, you could try—it’s pretty damn inspiring.”

“Why don’t we try a more formulated strategy first.”

“Do you _have_ one, Shepard?” asked Miranda, brow arched.

“That’s what this meeting is for,” said the commander. “I want your opinions.”

“What, we can’t ‘charge strategically headfirst?’ ”

“Oh, ha-ha, Garrus. No—I was thinking something a little more careful than my counter-ambush approach.”

“You mean the Standard Vanguard Plan of Attack,” corrected Joker.

“Seriously, guys—opinions. Not ‘make fun of Shepard’s battle tactics’.” She tried her best to look stern, but it was clear no one wanted this meeting to be necessary. Their attempts at humor didn’t quite counteract the signs of weariness and wear from the War that had not yet faded. “Come on—give me something. You’ve been briefed; whatcha got?”

“You already know my thoughts on the matter, Commander,” growled Javik, just beyond the doorframe, visible over Ashley’s shoulder. “Destroy the Reapers and have done—you know the AI lies. Attack before they make their move against us.”

“And continue all-out war?” snapped Tali. “We were _losing_ , Javik!”

“If the commander had the courage to do what was necessary when she reached the Crucible—”

“Hey! Regardless of what you think—”

“Synthetics are—”

“It’s a _whole race_ —”

“If you—”

“You are all blind—”

“—you can’t just play God—”

“Look—“

“—utterly ridiculous to—”

“—can see where the concern—”

“No, it’s—”

“—completely heartless.”

“—weigh the options—”

“Would you just—”

“ENOUGH.”

The crew fell silent, eyes on their commander, her palms down on the table, head bent low, eyeing each of them. “What is done is done. Javik has a valid point, as do each of you.” She straightened, green eyes glinting in the artificial light. “What are we going to do about it _now?_ One at a time.”

“I have been looking into the scientists’ notes on the Crucible.” Liara spoke at last, opposite Shepard at the table, a datapad resting before her. “I believe the technology can be repurposed, but it is not certain how long such a task would take.”

“Repurposed how, Liara?” asked Shepard.

“Not as the ultimate weapon against the Reapers, but perhaps to reprogram them—give them a new purpose.”

The commander leaned on the table again, brow furrowed. She was silent.

“Shepard—” Tali shifted in her seat, head bowed. “—you didn’t reprogram the heretic Geth when it was an option. It… is this different?”

“I don’t know; it’s an idea. Anyone else?”

“We need to know what they’re planning.” Traynor was between EDI and Liara. “Unless we know for sure, it’s hard to plan effectively.”

“What, spy on AIs?” scoffed Joker. “C’mon, EDI—you’ve got to have some insight on how ridiculous that is.”

EDI’s body cocked its head at him; she had been mostly silent, likely more focused on running the ship and listening more than anything else (or not—the AI had plenty of processing power for that and more, but Shepard wasn’t about to waste time speculating about it). “Joker, would you like me to challenge assertions or pilot the ship so we miss the asteroid field?”

“Wait, there wasn’t—”

“That was a joke, illustrating the absurdity of asking me to invalidate Traynor’s point; if I have something to say, Jeff, I will say it.”

Score one for the AI—there was a collective chuckle.

“Tell ‘im, EDI,” said Daniels.

“ _Can_ you spy on an AI, though?” mused Ashley.

“Oh, not you, too!” Joker shook his head.

“Is your question rhetorical, Lieutenant?” asked EDI.

“Regardless, I’d like to know the answer.”

“Shepard—”

“Look, Joker—Legion and I sort of did when we entered the Geth Consensus. I could see their history, Reaper corruption. Why couldn’t we do the same to the Catalyst and the Reapers?”

“Of course—the Geth! EDI, could we do it?” Tali was nearly perched on the edge of her chair.

“Yes,” said EDI, “in theory. The only obstacle is doing so without the AI knowing. I doubt it would be the same as your trip into the consensus, Shepard.”

The commander nodded, gaze lost somewhere beyond their little room and table, out beyond the _Normandy_. “We need to contact the Geth. Liara, Miranda—between the two of you, do you think you can decipher and compile relevant notes on the Crucible? Explore our options, the potential.”

Miranda shifted her stance, one hand on her hip. “I had planned to leave when you were clear for full duty, Shepard, but if you already have something in mind, I’ll stay until this is actually over—Oriana will be safe for now, but not if we don’t take care of our little Reaper problem.”

“I’d appreciate it. See if you and dig up any contacts to help us—I’ll give Jacob and Dr. Brynn a call.” Shepard turned to the quarian seated close beside her. “Tali, can you get in contact with the Geth? Find one that wouldn’t mind serving on the _Normandy_ , working to solve this with us—if you need to go to Rannoch, you have leave to do so.”

“With you all the way, Shepard.”

“Any more ideas?” The commander rested her palms on the table.

“People need supplies,” said Cortez.

James nodded. “It’s all well and good for us to keep from getting crushed by the Reapers, but it’s bad down there, Lola.”

“Are you requesting leave, Lieutenant Vega?”

“No, Commander, but somebody needs to make sure supply lines are going where they need to.”

She nodded. “All right then, James—I’d like you to be my liaison for Earth. Communications, supply requests, cleanup teams: we’ll work with the Alliance to get it done. We need some contacts for Palaven and Thessia as well, to see if they need any outside aid—Traynor, Garrus, Liara, see what you can do on that front.”

“Aye, aye, Commander.”

“You will waste time and resources this way, Commander.” Javik crossed his arms. “It is foolish.”

Shepard raised a hand before her crew could protest. “It is too much for one ship to handle. That is why we’re researching contacts—we will delegate as much as possible, and different teams can handle the problems with supplies and rebuilding, out of our hands. We’re just going to get the ball rolling.”

“This is a warship.”

“That’s why we will focus on the Reapers and holding the Galactic Alliance together—we arranged it, and I won’t have it falling to pieces in this aftermath. Part of that means making sure our allies have aid before we go gallivanting across the galaxy again.

“Oh, is _that_ what we do, Commander?”

Shepard turned her gaze. “Really, Adams?”

“Your engineering crew is already ill-behaved without the poor example of their chief.” Chakwas raised her brows across the table from him, clearly more amused than her words would suggest.

The commander folded her arms. “But yes—we gallivant; it’s what we do.” Shepard shook her head. “With that, unless anyone else has a smart comment, you’re dismissed.”

“We can never be dismissed with _that_ stipulation, Commander.” Garrus was smirking.

“Gods—get your asses out of here before I change my mind. If anyone else has thoughts or concerns at any time, don’t hesitate to bring them to me."


	8. Of Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard finally gets off the _Normandy_.

Commander Shepard was cleared to leave the ship the following day, if necessary. Hell yes was it necessary, and she set about immediately to find an excuse. Not that she needed one, but there was something about Dr. Chakwas watching so carefully (There were some who maintained that the only person more frightening than the commander herself was the doctor) that Shepard did not want to risk any more delays (She was, of course, _not_ one of those people. Of course.).

So—to find an excuse. She sure as shit wasn’t going to take this opportunity to meet with Hackett. The Citadel was the last thing she wished to see—her stomach still turned at the memory of Keepers picking through human remains, blood clinging to her boots with every step. Such an image would not easily fade. Meditation suddenly seemed like a fine idea—techniques taught by both Samara and Thane helped her seal such things away.

But Shepard was determined to get the Hell off the ship, even if she still wasn’t cleared for combat.

Her opportunity came when she checked in with James about the status of earth.

He stood at one of the terminals in the War Room, a map of London and the surrounding areas pulled up on-screen. Much of it was grey, with areas of red, blue, and green winking in and out. “The red is in need of medical supplies, blue in need of drinking water, and green needs food.”

“Why is most of it grey?” She gestured with her chin to the map, arms folded.

James shrugged. “Heavy damage—still looking for survivors. All the major cities are like that.” He shifted the screen to show Berlin, Hong Kong, Moscow, Kinshasa, Delhi, Gaza, Beijing, Buenos Aires, New York, Tokyo, Iran—all were in dire straits. “What about more rural and isolated areas?”

“Anything particularly rural seems pretty neglected, and less populated areas didn’t get the brunt of the attack, but they were less heavily defended, so they’ll need resources, too, as soon as we can get supply lines up and more communication from survivors there.”

James could see the plot light up her face. “So no one’s really scouted those areas?”

“Commander…”

Shepard waved a hand. “I’ll take Garrus in case there’s trouble.” She turned on her heel. “EDI, have Cortez ready the shuttle, and tell Vakarian to get his ass down there.”

{ _Yes, Commander. Shall I tell Officer Vakarian your message verbatim?_ }

“Why the Hell not?”

\------

Dr. Chakwas intercepted Shepard in the cargo bay. “Commander, you can’t wear your armor.”

“Wasn’t planning to.” She was nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet, still in her fatigues.

The doctor gestured to the holster on her thigh. “And you’re still not cleared to fire that, Shepard.”

She shrugged, patting her Carnifex fondly. “Nobody down there knows that.”

Chakwas sighed and turned to where Garrus chatted with Cortez by the shuttle. “Garrus, would you _please_ keep her out of trouble and make sure she doesn’t fire that gun.”

His mandibles lifted in amusement. “Of course, doctor.”

Shepard folded her arms, a small smile on her lips. “If there’s nothing else, doctor..?”

Chakwas gave a sigh. “Be careful.”

“You know I don’t make promises.”

“I know, Shepard.” There was a note of fondness to accompany the resignation in her voice. “Have fun.”

She chuckled. “Thanks, Karin.”

“Go on.”

The commander gave her pilot a wink. “We ready to go?”

“Ready when you are.”

Garrus was wearing civvies, still without time to gain another set of armor, but it seemed he head salvaged decent pieces of his old set to use. The greaves were charred, though serviceable, polished as much as possible, and the tabard still showed signs of heavy scratches and burns. He caught her examining it and shrugged. “I have my under-suit on, too. It’ll help if anything happens, but _try_ not to piss anyone or anything off, Shepard.”

She chuckled. “Damn. That was the first thing I wanted to do.”

“I know you’re good at it,” He followed her into the shuttle, taking a seat beside her, “but please restrain yourself.”

Shepard arched an amused eyebrow at him. “You do realize something is going to go wrong whether I piss off the locals or not?”

He sighed. “It always does.”

\------

In light of that fact, they decided on as rural an area as they could find—a protected piece of land several miles long, undisturbed by development. The video feed as they approached was serene in evening’s low light. Rolling plains touched by the sun’s golden glow, grasses waving in a gentle breeze. When they stepped off the shuttle, the air was warm, pressing upon them delicately.

Cortez took a deep breath, tasting the dry, green breeze. “It’s good to be back.”

Garrus’ eyes were on the sky, the sun appearing unusually large in the west, washing the atmosphere a pale blue and white, wisps of clouds drifting above. “Your sun is rather… forgiving.”

Shepard chuckled. “That’s why we’re so soft.”

“Apparently.”

The three stood in silence a moment, listening to the whisper of wind through the grass, brushing their legs as it waved. There was a buzzing and chirping in the hills of crickets, birds, bees. They glanced at one another, then at the environment. They and the shuttle did not belong on this green landscape, all angles and scars and armaments.

“So… there’s no trace of war here.”

“Nope.”

“What now?”

A mischievous grin crossed the commander’s features.

“Shepard…”

She slapped the turian’s arm and bolted. “You’re it!”

“Shepard, I don’t think you should be sprinting if—”

“I’ll stop if I get tired,” she called, now a good thirty feet away. Her legs were protesting already, but hell if she was going to admit it. “I still need exercise, don’t I? Gotta be combat-ready next week. Let’s go, Vakarian: you’re it!”

A look of confusion crossed his features to blend with his frustration at Shepard’s negligence. “What..?” He turned toward Cortez, only to find the human quite a distance behind the shuttle. He glanced between the humans who had so clearly lost their minds. “ _What_ are you doing?”

Shepard was bouncing, ready to run, knees bent. “It’s a game—tag. I’ve tagged you, now you’re ‘it.’ You have to tag someone else.”

“I’m _what_?”

“ ‘It.’ Doesn’t make sense, really, Garrus. Just go with it. You’re the tagger. Once you tag one of us, we’ll be ‘it,’ and so on,” Cortez answered.

“But how do you win?”

“Just try not to get tagged—let’s go, double-time, Vakarian!” Shepard actually felt ready to run again, the ache in her legs and joints faded to a negligible throb. It was nice to get blood flowing through them properly.

She barely registered the look of mischief that crossed his own features before both were sprinting. Shepard stopped, pivoted, ran past him when she heard him near, but she felt his gloved talons tap her back nonetheless. She kept forward, Cortez in sight.

“Why do I get the feeling this is a children’s game for your people?” The turian called after her, as Cortez took off from his position behind the shuttle, headed for a slope.

She stumbled and dropped to a slide, managing to tag Cortez’ leg, changing direction to sprint back the way she came before he could halt his momentum and return the favor. “Because it is!”

But none of them minded terribly—there was no sign of war here except the scars they had brought with them. In the grey twilight, Garrus caught up to Shepard and scooped her into his arms, ignoring every indignant protest. They were close to a forest’s edge now, laughter and teasing reaching to the trees.

“All right—put me down. We should figure out where we lost Cortez.”

His mandibles spread in a grin of a most remarkable sort—the sort that followed a headshot or ended in a kiss. “I’m not sure that’s completely necessary just ye— _that_. What is that?”

“What?” Shepard glanced about, not bothering to wince as Garrus’ arms tightened around her back and beneath her knees, but could not detect anything out of the ordinary in the gloom: no unusual sound, no misplaced shadow. The moon was waning, but its pale light showed little to— _oh_.

“I haven’t seen these since I was a child.”

Garrus’ shoulders relaxed, taking the pressure off Shepard’s back, his clever blue eyes following the flashes of light. “So they’re not enemy tech rapidly approaching to blow us to pieces?”

Shepard laughed. “No—they’re insects. Set me down.”

He did.

She immediately searched the air close to them for a telltale point of light. “They were originally imported to Midnoir to feed a declining avian population, I think. Came out at night during the summers.” Finding one, she focused her gaze on the little, black body when its light dimmed. She scooped her hand forward, and the little beetle rested in her palm. “They’re called fireflies.”

Shepard offered her hand for him to see it crawl slowly over her skin.

“Do they burn?”

“No—they’re harmless. We used to pass time by catching them like this; we’d put them in a bottle and see how many we caught before it was time for bed.” Her expression was soft, but Garrus found no trace of sorrow in it.

“Why are they fireflies, then? Do they live near sources of fire or heat or…”

“Nope. They just light up.” The insect took the opportunity to spread its wings and rise into the warm night air. It flashed once as it hovered away. “They only glow when they’re flying, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t burn, anyway.” She winked. “Bioluminescence.”

“Like the hanar—are they communicating?”

Her brow furrowed a little. “I don’t know… they could be.” A light twitch registered in her cheek. “I’d say we could ask Mordin if he knows, but…”

Garrus rested a hand on her shoulder and pressed his forehead to Shepard’s. “I know.”

She sighed, chest tight, but did not yet feel the prickle of tears at her eyes. “Somehow I doubt he’s at the bar.”

Garrus shook his head. “Probably gone to the great big laboratory in the sky.”

That brought the shadow of a smile. “Maybe he visits the beach across the sea with Thane, gathering seashells for that research he wanted to do.” The tightness in her chest tugged at her throat.

He chuckled. “Mordin walks the beach of the afterlife and returns to his heavenly lab to perform experiments when he gets bored… sounds about right to me.” Shepard avoided his gaze. He tilted his head, eyes fixing on a point of her shoulder. “Hey—bet I can catch firebugs faster than you.”

“Wh—”

But he was off, chasing a point of light across the edge of the tree-line.

A grin sneaked across Shepard’s features, scars casting eerie shadows in the scant moonlight, but she laughed like a child. “No visor! That’s cheating.”

“It’s part of my starting assets at this point!” he called over his shoulder. But, the blue light winked out. “Got one!”

“Already?” Her eyes were scanning the grasses— _ah._

“Better get moving, Shepard!”

“Two for one!” She brushed a pair off a blade at about waist-height and raised her cupped hands in triumph.

“Still not impressed—two for me now, and I have a head start. Three.”

“That’s because they live in the woods, Vakarian—there are more over there. Come away from the trees and let’s see how you do.”

“Four!”

Shepard rolled her eyes and stretched a hand over her head to snag one mid-flight. “Three.” She let it take off just as quickly as she had snatched it and sighted down another.

“You can feel the little air currents they make with their wings as they go.” There was a note of fascination in his voice, a light hum in his sub-vocals. “And five, by the way.”

“What, you’ve never played with bugs before?”

“Of course I have. Just… er… we don’t usually release them when we go out chasing them as kids.” Even in the dark Shepard could see the uncomfortable rise and fall of his mandibles.

“Well, it’s only awkward if _you_ make it awkward, Shepard. Six. I’m a born hunter—you can’t beat me at this. Seven. Might as well give up now. ”

“Stop trying to change the subject and let’s hear it, Garrus.” Shepard searched the deep blue of the night for tiny, black silhouettes.

“We’d eat them. Which brings me to the question I’ve been dying to ask: are they edible? Eight. ”

“Er…. I think it’s safe to say that if it glows—seven—the answer is probably no. Eight.”

Garrus chuckled. “I wasn’t serious,Shepard—they’re levo.”

“Oh… right. Sorry. Concentrating on kicking your ass.”

There was a rustle in the trees. They stiffened. Four pairs of footsteps. A curse too low for Shepard’s translator to register hissed between Garrus’ teeth. They turned to face bobbing lights drifting through the trees—artificial—glinting among the leaves. A human murmur filtered between the branches, and Garrus fell back immediately to cover Shepard’s position, blue glow casting shadows over his angular features as his visor came back online.

“Look, I can talk to them—”

“Fire, fire, fire! It’s another one!”

Misplaced bullets on the branches, trunks, in the air around them.

“Shit.”

Garrus scooped the commander into his arms and bolted, ignoring indignant protests for a second time that night.

Cortez’s voice was in their ears: “Commander—I hear gunfire. Orders?”

“Find our position on foot. Garrus is putting distance between us—group of about four trigger-happy humans in the woods. Untrained, judging by their aim. Do not return fire. If they pursue, we’ll try talking them down first.” She flicked her fingers to activate her omni-tool, but the bouncing as the turian bounded over uneven terrain didn’t help her ability to activate and forward their coordinates in anything resembling a timely fashion. “I’m sending you our position.”

“Aye, aye, Commander.”

Shepard knew she would have new bruises from where Garrus’ tabard was digging into her hip. She peered over his shoulder and saw precisely four humans—armed, but unarmored—emerge from the woods, fire ceased for now; they were just out range, thudding down a hill.

“You’re fast, I’ll give you that.”

Garrus grunted, sub-vocals sounding an amused hum. “Wait until we have to jump across something.”

Shepard tensed. “Hell no.”

He laughed.

“Commander, I’m approaching on the left.”

“Roger that, Cortez. Where have you been?” She tilted her head to see past Garrus’ shoulder. She could just make out his dark shape approaching from the bottom of the hill to meet them.

“Not far. I lost sight of you a while ago, and thought I’d wait about fifteen minutes or so before calling. I didn’t want to risk interrupting anything.” He winked.

Shepard groaned. “Oh, come on, do we really have to have this talk? I’m a big girl, Cortez: I don’t use recon as an excuse for getting laid.”

“Clearly you’ve just never been given a good enough reason to consider it…”

“Garrus!”

Cortez chuckled. “So what _did_ happen, Commander?” He ran alongside, all three headed for taller grasses in a small ravine, many topped with colorful blooms closed for the night.

“If I had to guess, I’d say they don’t know the war’s over, and they think I’m a marauder,” Garrus replied.

“Makes sense.” Shepard nodded—but what were they doing here in the first place? It was some distance from any town or city.

“What about Shepard?” Cortez asked. “Didn’t they see her?”

“Maybe not—but that’s not important now. We need to get them to stop shooting and talk.” The commander glanced behind, lifting her chin to see over Garrus’ cowl. “Put me down. We can rest here—I don’t see them.”

Indeed, the hill they had left behind was empty, save for waving grass and silent fireflies. The turian did as she bade.

“Cortez and I will try to communicate. Garrus, I think it’s best if—shit, get down!”

“Now!” The four figures spread out in a semi—circle down another slope, a crude attempt to cut off escape. Shepard found herself face-first in a bunch of squat, yellow flowers as the bullets flew. The grass was already damp, but at least it smelled pleasant enough. Better than many other things she’d landed in, to be sure (mud, corpses, sand, blood, more corpses, and the time—oh, good God—some things were better left forgotten).

Garrus was a little to her right, talons pressing into her shoulder. She shook him off and shuffled to spot Cortez behind her. So—three of them wisely prone in the tall grass and wildflowers, four untrained civilians bearing down. Time for a bit of risk-taking, since they’d so generously let their pursuers have the high ground. Stupid, regardless of whether or not they thought the confused humans would not follow.

Garrus had drawn his Phalanx and was steadily aiming.

“Not unless necessary,” she hissed.

“Injury only—take a leg out.”

“Not yet.”

“Shepard—”

But she popped to a crouch. “CEASE FIRE!”

Miraculously, they did. She stood, raising her hands. “Alliance Navy. Please put down your weapons. We number two humans, and one turian—he’s an ally. Permission to approach?”

“We can’t put down our weapons, but you may approach. Keep the turian’s hands where we can see them.”

Garrus gave an annoyed sound something like the marriage of a hum and a growl, but he holstered his pistol and stood slowly. “So much for avoiding trouble.”


	9. Sway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard, Garrus, and Cortez are taken to the camp. Shepard has a few thoughts regarding the shaky agreement.

The camp was small, hidden among the trees.

“Most of the attacks we heard about were on cities, so we thought moving to an unpopulated area would be our best chance.” The leader of the scouting party explained as they walked—Jeremiah. He held himself better than he held his gun, and was just as unkempt as the rest of the scouts: unshaved, untrimmed, unrested.

“Smart.” Shepard nodded, surveying the makeshift shelters, the weary faces, lines etched over their forehead and around their eyes, all tight brows and down-turned lips. Most of the temporary homes were cars draped in nets woven of twigs and leaves as camouflage, caked with mud, or lean-tos constructed from wood and cloth and old sheet metal scavenged from old storefronts or automobiles, all covered to blend in with their surroundings.

“Now, though… maybe we can go home, figure out what’s left.”

Heads turned to survey the newcomers with eyes too weary to be rightly suspicious.

“How much fighting were you exposed to?” asked Cortez.

“Bands of those… things.” Jeremiah’s mouth curved into a reflection of hatred and disgust. “We’d drag the bodies to a bit and bury them… burning them seemed like it would draw attention.”

Another of the scouting party spoke—a young man with an impressive scar along his jaw. “There’d be half a dozen every day or two. We tried to be careful, pick our engagements…”

“We lost five out of our original thirty, mostly because they were disorganized. I don’t think we could have taken squads of the smarter ones. Just the zombie things.” The boy rubbed at the back of his next. “Shit. That sort of thing shouldn’t even be possible, and we just talk about it like it’s...”

“You did well,” said Shepard. “Excellent, really, to keep losses so low. All of you are untrained?”

“Yes. Well—we had one marksman, but that’s not the same, I suppose.”

Garrus shook his head. “No, it’s not.”

Cortez was quiet, surveying. The people gathered around a small stove, heating soup. Some wore broken expressions, and his heart ached for them. Others, near one of the shelters, kept a good humor, sharing stories, laughter in their tired eyes.

_Civilians shouldn’t have to learn how to use that to their advantage; covering death with a brisk spirit and a clever tongue._

It was all well and good for the crew of the _Normandy_ —but these… they weren’t soldiers.

“It’s what we have,” Jeremiah gestured to the people, the disguised shelters, “about six huts, fifteen guns between us—”

“Commander Shepard!” gasped a young woman. “That’s—Jeremiah—that’s Commander Shepard. _You’ve brought us Commander Shepard_.”

“Oh, here we go,” muttered Garrus, an amused trill in his sub-harmonics.

“Mel—”

But the woman was already approached, gazing earnestly into the commander’s face. “Commander Shepard—Commander—I would recognize you anywhere, even with—” she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry—I’m sure you—I shouldn’t comment—I’m sorry.”

Shepard shrugged, glancing away from the woman’s stress-hollowed eyes, away from the spark of hope lighting her face. “It’s all right—scars happen. Mine are just all over my face—hard not to mention them.” She offered a half-grin. “They’re my story.” When Garrus shook his head she had a mind to let him know exactly how cockily _he_ liked to play things off. It wasn’t her fault people could be placated with a little dashing hero front. Hell, it might get this over with faster.

“She has news for us.” Jeremiah interrupted before the blushing woman could muster a reply.

The commander nodded, clasped her hands behind her back and pitched her voice a little louder so the entire camp now effectively gathered and watching, could hear. “The war is over—we’ve come to see where supplies are needed.”

“And learn about fireflies.”

Shepard shot the turian a Look, though it seemed the refugees did not hear.

“But… here? Commander, surely you have better things to do than see _us_. We didn’t think anyone even knew—”

“Everyone is important. But you’re right: the _Normandy_ won’t be focusing on recon work. I wanted to see a little of Earth for myself.”

The woman had tears in her eyes, but she wiped them away, a hand extended as though to touch Shepard, but the woman kept her weight back, jut out of reach, unable to quite bring herself to even brush the commander’s fatigues. “Thank you. We…” she dropped her hand. “We won’t see more of those things, then? We can go home?”

“Check your homes; see what’s left. You shouldn’t see any more husks or other abominations.” Shepard bit her tongue against saying it was part of the ongoing negotiations. She extended a hand and gave the woman’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“Thank God!” one said softly.

Then, as though a signal had been passed, more refugees pressed forward, brushing their hands along Shepard’s forearms and shoulders, children patting at her legs. She stiffened, but allowed it to continue, silent, mouth drawn tight. Garrus’ hand strayed to his pistol, but neither he nor Cortez made any move to stop the ritualistic touches without an order; once one refugee touched, he or she stumbled back, allowing room for another. Shepard shifted, an uncomfortable image of worshipers touching and kissing rosary beads creeping into her mind.

“Enough—enough!” The refugees obediently gave Shepard room, and she found herself relieved.

“Thank you, Shepard—thank you. We thought…”

“We were afraid—”

 “We—”

“How many are lost? Can—”

“We won—how did it end?”

“ _How_? How are they gone? Where did they go?”

_How? How how how how how how how how how—_

“Enough!” The commander held up a hand, heaved a sigh. Why did they have to ask? She couldn’t lie any more than Joker could tap dance. “The Reapers are to help us re-build. We’ve made a treaty, and the disappearance of those _things_ is part of it.”

Only the sound of crickets and the breeze in reply.

“The creatures are gone; it’s just the Reapers themselves left.”

Jeremiah’s frown was a familiar etch on his lips. “Can they be trusted? Half-machine… all the things they’ve done?”

Shepard met each refugee’s eyes as she spoke, reading their fear, their confusion. She memorized it; she had seen it before; she tucked her reaction away, down in the pit where the commander drowned visions of Akuze, of Palaven, of London—all for use later. “Treaties can only work if there is trust, no matter who the other party is. Trust—and care.”

There began a slow nod, and Shepard’s stomach twisted into a knot.

“You’re right, Commander. We’ll… try. We can try, and we’ll give our best.”

“We will,” another added. “May not like politicians one bit, but you… we can trust you, Commander Shepard.”

“We trust you.”

* * *

 

“It’s not good to have that much sway over the general populace, Shepard.”

They had closed the division between the cab and hold of the shuttle.

“You think I don’t know that?”

The turian raised his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying you could give Udina a run for his money—with support like that you could have a successful coup on your hands with next to no bloodshed.”

“God, Garrus, but what if I’m _wrong?_ ” Shepard let her head fall back, thumping against the wall, hands clenched into tight fists.

He appeared to consider this. “That would be a problem.”

“Garrus!”

He sighed. “Look, Shepard—I know the pressure just keeps building, but you’ve got a good plan—as good as anybody can have at this point—and you’re not going to be easily fooled. That’s important.”

“You’re right; this is no time for what-ifs. They won’t help anyone.” She pressed a hand over her forehead as though to wipe away a sheen of sweat. She closed her eyes. “Nothing about this is right.”

“I know you’d rather charge the bastards and blast them apart with a few bullets, Shepard, but at least we’re not sustaining any more losses right now.”

Shepard placed a hand on his pauldron and rested her forehead against her fingers. “Maybe. I’m not convinced the Reapers aren’t going to town indoctrinating while we lay politics. What the Hell was I thinking?”

“You were trying to make the right decision.”

 _Th-crack_.

Shepard’s fist trembled on the wall, teeth bared into a snarl.

{“Everything ok back there?”}

“Fine, Cortez.”

{“Yes, Commander.”}

Shepard paced the space, prowling even encaged. “I was trying to save everyone. I should know a corner has to be cut somewhere—it’s just not possible. Losses happen. Losses are necessary—that’s why we call it sacrifice. I just—” She sat heavily on the bench beside him. “I thought we’d already seen enough.”

There was a hum in Garrus’ chest—a comforting thing, but probably more; Shepard was yet no expert in turian sub-vocals. “Shepard, I won’t pretend to know if you made the right decision, but you did buy some time… and… selfishly, I’m grateful for that.” He took her hand. “You’ve bought everyone more time.”

She closed her fingers tightly around his. “Thanks, Garrus. I’m not quite convinced you’re right,” A teasing, half-smile, “but thanks.”


	10. Ruse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chakwas has some orders.

“Stress fractures. I can fix them easily enough, Shepard, but leave off the heroics _and_ your temper next time.” Chakwas’ mouth was set in a grim line.

“Karin, please—”

She spun on her heel. “ _Don’t_ ‘Karin’ me, Shepard: I gave explicit instructions. I won’t embarrass you in front of your crew, but I’ll add time to your medical leave if I must.”

Shepard frowned. “Of course, Doctor.”

The older woman returned to her task, rifling through the cabinet. “Don’t pout; it doesn’t suit you, Commander.” Shepard opened her mouth to retort, but Chakwas shook her head, returning with a capsule. “I understand—I do. But it will turn out all right. Even if _you_ don’t believe it, I do.” She pressed the capsule’s edge to the commander’s wrist. “Normally, your implants would take care of things, but they’re taxed enough already; I’m not going to take any chances.” The liquid inside entered her arm with a prick, cooling the soreness in Shepard’s fist. “Look what’s happened thus far: you’ve brought some solution without violence or threat thereof, for now.”

“Some things are worse than violence.” The morose pull of Shepard’s lips would not lessen.

“I’d tell you to go shoot something if it wouldn’t defeat the purpose. Find something to occupy your mind for _everyone’s_ sake, please. When you’re not dealing with the Catalyst and balancing your armies, I need you to find something else to worry about.” The doctor took the remains of the capsule to the recycling bin.

Shepard flexed her hand. “Not much else to worry about right now, Doctor. I need to contact the Catalyst again. Negotiations aren’t finished. After what happened on Earth, I need to make sure—”

“Before you do, Shepard, please tell Garrus that I said he’s clear.”

The commander squinted at the doctor, but the older woman was busy with her omni-tool. “What?”

“Please tell Officer Vakarian that I have cleared him completely. If he doesn’t take your word for it, let him know I said concessions must be made.” Chakwas smiled at Shepard’s attempts to discern more from her facial expression.

“Why wouldn’t he tell me if—”

“That’s not my business, Commander, and it didn’t affect helping you on Earth. Regardless, he’s cleared, and if you’d like to be anytime soon, you’ll do as I ask.”

Her eyes might as well have been polished steel for all the good attempting to read them did Shepard. “All right—thanks, Doctor.” She slid off the table, flexing her fingers as she walked. The tension in them had already eased.

“Don’t strike any more walls, and do refrain from tempting your crew to return the frustration.”

“Do I ever go around tormenting people on purpose?”

Chakwas sighed. “Accidental _or_ on purpose, Shepard, if I see you in here again before your final diagnosis, I swear I’ll let them put you in the brig and tell Hackett that you accept the promotion to boot.”

Shepard winced. “That’s a low blow, Chakwas. I’m not sure if you’re threatening violence or paperwork.”

“Both.” The doctor fixed the commander under her gaze. “Now,” she nodded to the door. “Go give Garrus my message.”

If Shepard left a little more quickly than necessary, it had _nothing_ to do with Chakwas’ threats.

The commander turned immediately toward the battery. ‘Concessions have to be made.’ Exactly what…

“Shepard!”

She turned from the battery’s hall. “Yes?”

Liara’s eyes were glinting in a way the commander would usually expect from something more archaeological than her current orders should allow. “We’ve found something—it—” The asari shook her head. “I’m sorry—were you going somewhere that needs attention?”

“I was delivering a message from Chakwas to Garrus, but I’m sure—”

“It’s all right, Shepard. I’ll be in my quarters when you’re finished”

She folded her arms. “If it’s good news, I think I need it right now, Liara.”

“No, no—this can wait.” Liara smiled, and there was something unsettling about it. An ‘I-know-something-you-don’t-know’ sort of unsettling that was becoming an annoyingly commonplace part of having the Shadow Broker as one of your closest friends.

Shepard cocked an eyebrow. “You sure? I don’t think this is really time-sens—”

“I’m sure it won’t take long, but what I have to tell you will require some time. I’ll be in my quarters when you’re ready, Commander.” Liara gave another smile and was gone before Shepard could argue.

Weird. Very weird, but the Asari had a lot on her mind these days—they all did.

She reached the main battery without further incident, flexing her hand as the doors slid open to reveal Garrus bent over the center console. There was barely a twinge in her wrist.

“Hey, Garrus.”

He turned to face her. “Yes, Shepard? Chakwas finished scolding you, I take it.”

“A bit more than you might expect.”

“Oh, I’m sure my expectations are _pretty_ damn accurate, Shepard.” Part of her wanted to wipe that smirk off his face (which is exactly what he wanted), but she had a message and business. Later. She’d see to putting her turian in his place later, provided he forgot her injuries and Chakwas’ strict orders _not_ to engage.

Shepard settled for folding her arms and implementing a slightly different wipe-off-that-smirk strategy. “Actually, Garrus, she had a message for you, too.”

“Ah.” There it went, as predicted, mandibles drawing tightly against his cheeks. “Saved some scolding for me, then?”

 _Let him sweat it out for a minute_.

He sighed. “Well, let’s have it: how much blame does the good doctor place on me?”

She chuckled. “None, apparently. She just told me to let you know you’re fully cleared. Care to explain?”

Garrus froze. His brain appeared to click into overdrive. “She said _what?_ ”

Shepard frowned. “You’re fully cleared. Why? Is there a problem?” She pursed her lips. “‘Concessions must be made’ was her other phrase. Care to clue me in on the code?” _Got them_.

The turian would have had her against the sealed door if gut instinct hadn’t been for the commander to counter and slip behind the console. “Garrus, wh—”

“ _I’m_ not cleared, Shepard, _you_ are, for… ah… _more enjoyable_ activities.” He extended a hand and took hers.

Shepard grinned, twining her fingers with his. “Sly bastard—Chakwas knew you wouldn’t believe me if I said she told me I was clear.”

Garrus’ mandibles twitched. “And that I wouldn’t believe it without a reason.” He pressed his mouth to the back of her hand. “Not that I haven’t been waiting for this as impatiently as you.”

She hooked her leg just above his spur, pressing her hips to his. Garrus’ short gasp granted no small amount of satisfaction. Shepard linked and arm about his waist, tracing the hard planes of his plates beneath the soft, silken material of his civvies—she almost wanted to delay that new armor as long as possible if it meant nice fabrics and easy access…. “Why don’t you show me just how _impatient_ you’ve been?”

He hummed and traced his tongue along Shepard’s neck. She shivered. “You do realize that this is a _concession_ , not exactly full clearance.”

She leaned back to look him in the eye. “You saying I’m not up to par, Vakarian?”

“Never, Shepard.” And there was that look again—a particular glint that set her blood running hot, and Garrus lowered his mouth to her ear. “I’m only saying I can’t just fuck you into the bulkhead, no matter how much we’d both enjoy that.”

She groaned. “ _Garrus_ , you can’t say it and not—”

He hitched her up and pressed her against the console.

“ _Fuck_.”

“Hmmmm…” Shepard could feel the vibrations through her chest, the hard planes of his hips pressed snugly between hers. “A careful one, I think. You _do_ need to… blow off some steam.” Garrus licked his way across her jawline, beneath her ear, caught her earlobe between his mouth-plates. Shepard hissed. “You’re a terrible patient, you know that, Commander? Half the crew was terrified of looking at you wrong even though you were hobbling.”

A breathless chuckle as she canted her hips a little more desperately than she’d intended so early. “That’s what they tell me.” She found the claps on his shirt. “I wasn’t made for sitting still.”

“ _You_? Spectre, Alliance Commander, Savior of the Citadel?” He ran his talons through her hair. “I never would have guessed.” Garrus kissed her, careful lips and tongue, teasing strokes. He pressed his forehead to hers, met her green eyes. “Chakwas can complain all she wants; I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Shepard caressed his cheek, fingers dancing over rivulets of scar tissue she knew well. “Thanks, big guy… but you might just eat those words one day.”

He spread his mandibles in a grin. “I’ll take that chance. Odds can’t be much worse than some of the gambles we’ve taken recently.”

She kissed him, sweet and familiar, pressed at the clasps she had undone. The turian hummed appreciatively as Shepard found the softer skin around his waist.

“Maybe we should relocate?” he suggested. “The console probably isn’t—”

She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist. “You think you’re going to get me to bed _now_ , Vakarian?” She pressed her tongue along his mouth, rasping softly against the skin, tasting faintly of metal and sun. “Right here is _just fine_.”

There was a thrumming deep in Garrus’ chest. Shepard rolled her hips against his. “It’s probably one of your plots for revenge, isn’t it? Spend more time in here with equations—”

“Calibrating a big damn gun when you could be calibrating something else.” Shepard grinned.

“Spirits.” He mustered the best approximation of an eye-roll he could. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

She waggled her eyebrows. “This might help me.”

Garrus tugged Shepard’s shirt over her head and nuzzled the space between her breasts. “That’s the idea.”


	11. Datum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew finds a set direction.

Garrus pressed his forehead to Shepard’s. “I’m not sure what I would have done.”

  
She nuzzled him the way she had been taught, never disrupting the connection, skin-to-skin, eye-to-eye, the hint of a smile on her lips. “You’d do fine.”

  
A dry chuckle. “I’m glad one of us thinks so.” His sub-harmonics were unsteady, tickling Shepard’s chest as they reached her.

  
The commander leapt up onto the still-dark console, ignoring the twinge in her hips, traced his mandibles with her fingers, pressed his head to her chest. “No Shepard without Vakarian,” she murmured, “I’m sticking around as long as you are.” Her heart thrummed a comfortable rhythm, still elevated from rather energetic exploits.

  
He lifted his head, pressed his mouth to her neck in the gentle semblance of a kiss. “Getting soft for this poor excuse for a turian, Commander?”

  
Her grin banished all other thought. “Not a chance, big guy—just making sure you have incentive to keep up.”

  
He nipped carefully at the main artery in her neck, a soft rumble from his chest answering her muffled gasp. “Between you and my rifle, I think we’ve got that covered.”

  
Shepard chuckled, tracing her nails along the back of his neck, just below the fringe—and—shit. She stiffened. “Garrus… did we remember to tell EDI to stop recording?”

  
He froze. “Ah… no… I’d say we’re completely screwed—no pun intended.”

  
Shepard could not help but grin as she pressed him back and hopped off the console. “Fuck you, Garrus.” She straightened her clothes as quickly as possible—knowing nothing could help the wrinkles. He chuckled and she socked him in the shoulder. “Pun _fully_ intended. EDI!”

  
{ _Yes, Shepard?_ } She was getting too good at sounding smug.

  
“Erase the last half hour of video and audio footage from the record—authorization six-one delta.” Shepard clasped her hands behind her back, not missing the smirk that lifted Garrus’ mandibles when she did.

  
{ _May I suggest the last full hour instead, Commander_?}

  
Commander Shepard was absolutely not blushing, a flush beginning at the hollow of her throat and spreading into her cheeks.

  
After all, there was nothing in the official record to say otherwise.

* * *

 

Shepard’s face was completely neutral as she entered Liara’s cabin.

  
“Greetings, Commander Shepard!”

  
“Hey, Glyph.”

  
The asari was bent over her terminal, video screens casting flickering shadows over her face—the commander was not sure of the last time this was not the case. It almost seemed Liara always stood here, silent Broker in the shadows, yet, a white coat zipped up to her throat, an almost uncomfortable reminder of her role as doctor, scientist, researcher. Perhaps she needed such an extreme trigger, lest Dr. T’Soni get swallowed up by the Shadow Broker.

  
Or perhaps Shepard was getting poetic after two brushes with death.

  
“You said you had something for me?”

  
Liara immediately straightened. “Yes, Commander.”

  
For a moment, it was almost as though she was going to get away without—

  
“And how _was_ your chat with Garrus, Shepard?”

  
Never mind.

  
Shepard straightened—for the second time in several minutes—at attention. “There were a few things that needed discussing, but everything was resolved. Nothing to worry about.”

  
“I’m sure.” But nothing more was said beyond a suggestive raise of her brow. Shepard tried not to roll her eyes.

  
“So?”

  
“Oh—yes. I’ve found something that will interest you—particularly in regards to our new Reaper problem.” That light had returned to her eyes, and for a moment the commander saw Dr. T’Soni, young archaeologist, bursting with enthusiasm over a new find, skittering away behind the med-bay to study it. Her fingers skated across the keyboard, and the monitors flickered—several scenes showed across the board: the first, a team of batarians, the second, a laboratory, third, an orb of some kind, swirling blues and greys, and the last, a squad of the Reaper Destroyers.

  
“Apparently, a year before your return, the batarians covered up a Reaper corpse—it had been destroyed by some unknown force. I didn’t find it before when sorting through the previous Broker’s files because my search parameters weren’t broad enough… apparently the Broker didn’t think this information important enough to ensure his survival and glossed over it; it wasn’t with the rest of the Reaper-related files. Or…”

  
“Or?”

  
“Or, he planned to let the Alliance do the work for him. That’s where I found this… with stolen Alliance intelligence.”

  
Shepard frowned. “And the Alliance thought I didn’t need to know? Where the Hell was this information when people refused to prepare for the War?”

  
“Well, the investigation was mostly fruitless until just before the Citadel was taken. But I agree—if the Alliance knew the Reapers existed… it’s possible they wanted to avoid further conflict with the batarians—exposing the cover-up would have caused problems—and we needed to avoid conflicts with each other in the face of the Reapers.”

  
The commander folded her arms. “Or one of the higher-ups was indoctrinated.” She shook her head. “It would have been nice to know somebody actually had _proof_ —and proof of a cover-up at that.”

  
Liara nodded. “Agreed.” She shifted her attention to the second monitor. This is the laboratory dedicated to researching whatever killed the Reaper in Batarian Space. They were calling it ‘Leviathan.’ In charge of the team was a Dr. Bryson.”

  
“Any chance they escaped the Citadel?” _Blood clinging to her boots, hot metallic scent burned her nose—too early even for the sickly-sweet scent of fresh rot._ Her hand strayed to the Predator at her waist. Gods, she wanted her Carnifex. Time to upgrade, regardless of Chakwas’ rules.

  
“I’ve been looking into it—apparently there was a plan to move key personnel off the station before the attack, and further plans to fortify key areas for those who couldn’t immediately leave—apparently initiated by Commander Bailey.”

  
“I swear he’s the only one that actually _listened_ to what I said.”

  
Liara smiled. “And a good thing, too. It might be the only chance we have of finding the scientists and their artefact alive.”

  
Shepard gestured to the third panel. “I assume that’s it?”

  
“Yes.” The asari nodded. “From what I can gather out of the few notes I was able to acquire, that is key to their research and findings. It also seems that the Reapers have been following their search… Destroyers have been tailing members of their research team as though they’re searching for this Leviathan as well.”

  
The commander narrowed her eyes at the image. “Reapers after a Reaper-killer. That tells me two things: that this thing actually exists, and we need to find it before they do, truce or no.”

  
“I agree, Shepard. Where would you like to start?”

  
 _Bodies piled together until they were indistinguishable, twisted limbs, bones and sinew glinting under red emergency lights; a glance would not register that this mountain of knotted flesh and blood had ever been living. Shepard’s throat burned._ Bile rose from her stomach even now. “We confront the Reapers about the Citadel.”


End file.
